


Underneath The Mistletoe

by DragonGirl87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Almost accidents, Christmas Fluff, Coming Out, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Love, Flirting, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Ice Skating, M/M, Mistletoe, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Slow Burn, The Great Lake | The Black Lake (Harry Potter), Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl87/pseuds/DragonGirl87
Summary: Eighth Year at Hogwarts is proving to be a bit lonely for Harry, who's feeling a rather lost and somewhat left out. All that changes when he walks into The Three Broomsticks and spots none other than Draco Malfoy, sat alone in a corner, nursing a pint of mulled mead, and looking like he's miles away. Could they be kindred spirits after all?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 433
Kudos: 666





	1. Mulled Mead

**Author's Note:**

> I am breaking all my own rules with this but I want to write a bit of Christmas fluff, so I am giving this a try. I haven't ever written a proper Eighth Year fic so this should be interesting.
> 
> I'd decided not to do this but it's the first of December and I truly couldn't resist the pull of writing something fluffy alongside my angsty addition WIP and my kinky smut WIP.
> 
> Take a ride with me?
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Harry slowly came to a halt and dithering, he let his eyes wander along Hogsmeade Village’s main road. Over the last few days, temperatures had dropped sharply, and although it hadn’t started snowing just yet, Harry fully expected the first snowflakes to start falling within the next two weeks. A gust of cold wind made him shudder, and Harry buried his hands deep in the large pockets of his brand-new winter coat. He’d left his gloves on the desk in his room, and although he’d noticed long before he’d left the grounds of Hogwarts castle, he’d not bothered to turn back and fetch them. He rather regretted his laziness now.

What with the war being well and truly over; Hermione had somehow managed to persuade him to return to Hogwarts for one last year, an attempt to make up for lost time and delay the inevitable obligations of adulthood for just a little longer. He didn’t really care about passing his N.E.W.T.s ― Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had taken over as the new Minister for Magic, had made it perfectly clear to him that there was an Auror position waiting for him, but he wasn’t ready to let go and become an adult, which was kind of ridiculous because Voldemort’s vendetta against him had forced him to grow up long before he’d been ready to do so.

Still, burying his nose in a book in the library or racking his brains over some silly Charms essay was a hell of a lot better than the daunting task of trying to renovate Grimmauld Place and most definitely healthier apparating to Godric’s Hollow and spending hour after hour staring at the ruins of his childhood home, Potter Cottage. Harry suspected that Hermione’s insistence for him to return to Hogwarts had been because she’d sensed that he was slipping deeper and deeper in a strange sort of melancholy, one he didn’t quite know how to shake.

Most days, he felt lost and a bit like his purpose in life was gone. He'd spent seven years of his life running from a madman and still found it hard to believe that he was finally free.

For the first month after returning to Hogwarts, he’d tried to rekindle things with Ginny but they’d both changed, and he no longer felt the same about her. Neither did she and although he’d tried to ignore it in favour of sparing her feelings, she’d dragged him out to the Quidditch pitch and sat him down for a very long chat. They’d amicably separated that afternoon, and ever since he was no longer forced to pretend that he wanted her to be his girlfriend, they’d become the best of friends.

Everyone who’d returned for a voluntary eighth year had been given their own private room, and Harry rather appreciated the fact that Professor McGonagall, who’d taken over as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, thought they all deserved a bit of privacy and respite from the main student body.

Granted, Ron spent more time in Hermione’s dorm than anywhere else, and Harry really didn’t want to know what they got up to when he wasn’t around but being in a relationship suited them both.

They were happy.

Most of the time, Hermione appeared a lot less stressed or tense, and Ron had become somewhat invested in his studies. Harry didn’t know whether he was doing it to prove a point or because Hermione’s thirst for knowledge had rubbed off on him.

Either way, everyone seemed to be coping a whole lot better, and half of the time Harry felt lost and alone.

Since he, and everyone else who had returned to Hogwarts to redo their seventh year, was an adult, he was free to venture down to Hogsmeade every weekend. Most of the eight-year-students took advantages of that privilege but so far, Harry resisted joining them.

They’d asked, more than once, of course, but for the last two months he’d always been able to get away with some silly excuse or other, and instead of heading into the village he’d either chased a Snitch around an empty Quidditch pitch, strolled around the shores of the Black Lake, or joined Hagrid in his hut.

This morning, Luna had asked him to come along, but he’d politely declined and hidden away in his quarters.

About two hours after everyone had left, he’d suddenly started to grow antsy and restless, and feeling mildly claustrophobic he’d grabbed his coat and aimlessly strolled around the castle and its grounds.

Somehow, he’d found himself heading towards Hogsmeade Village, but now that he was there, he couldn’t quite bring himself to seek out his friends or anyone for that matter.

It was the middle of November, and while Hogsmeade had yet to put up any Christmas decorations, there was a strangely festive cheer in the air.

Despite the cold, people wandered up and down the main street, chatting happily, and enjoying a much-needed break away from their studies. Their carefree attitude slightly improved Harry’s mood, but he still couldn’t bring himself to seek out any of his friends, least of all Ron and Hermione.

He contemplated turning around and heading back up to the castle when his eyes caught the sign to the Three Broomsticks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside the pub, and suddenly, a strange sort of magic pulled him towards the familiar wizarding establishment.

Lost in his own world, and wondering what on earth he was doing, Harry crossed the main street and headed for the pub.

He stopped at the door.

It opened, and a couple of Hogwarts students came out.

They greeted him with a smile.

“Hullo, Harry!”

Smiling, Harry inclined his head, silently reciprocating their greeting.

He didn’t know them but suspected that they were six-year-students.

They didn’t linger, thankfully didn’t ask for his autograph, and reaching for the handle, Harry slowly dragged the door to the pub open and stepped inside.

Warmth coloured his frozen and pale cheeks, and loud chatter and music filled his ears.

Harry mustered a smile and temporarily leaving his melancholy at the door, he glanced around.

The pub was full of wizards and witches of all ages, including a large number of Hogwarts students.

He spotted a few familiar faces, but instead of joining any of them, he headed straight for the bar.

Madame Rosmerta greeted him with a broad, but somewhat weary smile. After everything that had happened during his sixth year, she'd thought very hard to keep her license and eventually received a pardon from the Ministry. Harry was quite glad that she was still around.

“Harry, what can I get you?”

Harry thought for a moment.

He didn’t much feel like ordering a Butterbeer, and while he’d tried Firewhiskey, he thought it was way too strong for three o’clock in the afternoon.

“A pint of mulled mead?”

Madame Rosmerta chuckled.

“Certainly, Harry. Or do you prefer Mr Potter these days?”

Harry shuddered.

“Harry’s fine,” he replied.

He fished some coins out of his right jeans pocket and placed them on the counter.

Madame Rosmerta counted them, nodded, and turned her back on him to prepare his drink.

Because he had nothing else to do, Harry watched her expertly move about behind the bar. His eyes drifted over the assortment of drinks on the shelves but settled on nothing in particular. He was tired of giving into the whirling vortex of his mind and trying his best to shut it off, he patiently waited for Madame Rosmerta to hand him his mulled mead.

Once she placed it on the bar, he took it, brought it up to his lips and took a tentative sip. He first tasted cinnamon and the subtle flavour of vanilla, followed by zesty orange, peppery allspice, and hot, fruity apple juice.

Finally, the strong taste of brandy slightly muddled his mind and smiling, he thanked Madame Rosmerta and turned away from the bar.

Looking around for an empty seat, Harry shuffled from his left foot to his right and back again. He took another sip, and after briefly contemplating to take his drink outside, he spotted a mop of perfectly-styled platinum blond hair that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy.

He sat in a corner in the back, somewhat hidden away from the main crowd, and had wrapped both his hands around a half-empty pint of what Harry presumed to be mulled mead. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, and Harry was reasonably sure that Malfoy had not noticed his arrival. He seemed to be somewhat interested in the contents his pint glass and the carvings in the small and old wooden table, he’d claimed for himself. He sat with his back to the fireplace and suddenly, Harry found himself yearning for the warmth of an open fire.

Unsure whether to be bold enough to actually approach Malfoy, Harry took a third sip of his mead and hesitated for a minute or two. The brandy made it rather difficult to think straight, and with his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Harry slowly crossed the pub and headed towards Malfoy’s table, wondering whether he was about to earn himself a stinging curse or find himself on the receiving end of Malfoy’s scathing humour.

Either way, he was seconds away from finding out.

* * *

* * *


	2. Alihotsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has only just begun but it's proving to be rather busy. Still, I'm going to do my best to stay on top of this.
> 
> Not sure how many chapters in total this story is going to have, but I'll try and make it an advent fic, for the most part anyway.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Unexpectedly, a shadow obscured the strange carving on the table in front of him, which Draco had been trying to decipher for the five minutes. He couldn’t decide quite decide whether it was a squiggled ancient rune, a weird sort of drawing, or just an unusual cluster of meaningless lines, etched into the wood with the tip of a knife, or perhaps even a fork.

Not prepared for company, or any other sort of disturbance, Draco frowned and mildly annoyed he lifted his gaze off the table and looked up.

When he found himself staring at the familiar features of Potter’s face, he tensed a little, and unsure of how to react, he opened his mouth, then promptly closed it again.

He couldn’t think of a single sensible thing to say.

“Er, hi.”

Potter greeted him rather awkwardly, and even though Draco felt the strong urge to respond with something witheringly derisive to taunt Potter, he swallowed whatever snide remark was on the tip of his tongue, and mustered up the necessary energy required to force a smile instead.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure whether it was a proper smile or whether his lips had just awkwardly curled upward in a strange mixture between a mocking smirking and an expression of pain, but judging by the way Potter’s eyes widened behind his glasses, Draco decided that his half-hearted attempt at being civil seemed to have thoroughly surprised Potter.

 _He clearly didn’t think this through like most of the things he does_ , Draco thought scathingly as he cast a glance around the Three Broomsticks.

It quickly became apparent to him that the chair across from him was the only other empty chair left in the entire establishment, and biting back a sigh, Draco sat up a little straighter.

He removed his left hand from his pint glass and motioned at the seat opposite him.

“Have a seat, Potter.”

Potter hesitated for a few seconds, then shrugged.

“Erm, sure, alright.”

Reticently, Draco watched as Potter unbuttoned his coat. He couldn’t help but frown at Potter’s choice of clothing. Somehow, he convinced himself that post-ward Potter might finally start to dress better, but he still insisted on wearing oversized clothes. Draco mutely shook his head in quiet disbelief and firmly bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from pointing out that Potter’s dress sense was abysmal. Instead, he observed as Potter placed his fresh pint of mulled wine on the table in front of him, and moved the wobbly chair back a few inches before finally sitting down.

Almost immediately, awkward silence settled in the small space between them and unsure of what to do, Draco picked his glass up and took a sip, then twisted his fingers together and dropped them into his lap.

He stared down at them and gnawed on his bottom lip.

This was awkward, and he felt foolish.

He’d always been able to come up with something or other to say to Potter. This was the first time in a little over seven years that his brain refused to supply him with anything intelligent to say.

Apart from that one bleak morning in late June earlier this year when he and his mother had appeared in court to witness his father’s sentencing in front of the entire Wizengamot, Draco had never found himself in a situation where he had to actively try to be civil to Potter. After the trial, Potter had come up to him, and after awkwardly shuffling back and forth for several seconds, he’d eventually extended his hand, offering a sort of truce.

Draco hadn’t been especially keen on shaking Potter’s hand, but his mother had elbowed his side so sharply that he’d thrust out his hand to grasp Potter’s just to be able to somehow manage the pain. They’d exchanged a few tense words, though, for most of the conversation, Potter had babbled on about a fresh start and a clean slate, followed by an awkward apology for the way their duel in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom had ended. Draco cringed inwardly as he remembered their short chat. He’d felt just as embarrassed about the whole interaction and wanting it over sooner rather than later, he’d quickly mumbled something about letting bygones be bygones.

“This mead tastes quite good.”

Draco felt his head jerk up before he’d even had the chance to make the conscious decision to look up ― it felt like Potter’s sudden need to strike up a conversation with him resulted in his brain developing a mind of its own, one Draco didn’t quite know how to control. His eyes settled on Potter, and frowning, he tried and failed, to comprehend what was happening between him and Potter.

Unsure what to respond to Potter’s absurd comment about Madame Rosmerta’s mulled mead, Draco, after dithering for several seconds, opted to hum in silent affirmation.

Potter smiled and picking his pint glass up, he brought it to his lips, then paused, lowered it a bit, and ever so slightly tipped it into his direction.

Draco felt his frown deepen, and it took him about half a minute before he realised that the appropriate response here was to reach for his own glass and reciprocate Potter’s silent toast.

 _Anything’s better than this bizarre, nonsensical turn of event_ s, Draco thought. He sat forward, wrapped his long fingers around his own pint glass and reciprocating Potter’s toast, he, too, drank a bit of his mead.

Once again silence settled between them, and looking around the pub, Draco couldn’t help but wonder what on earth had possessed him to drag himself out of his own private chambers and down into the village.

He hadn’t wanted to return to Hogwarts to redo his seventh year and pass his N.E.W.T.s, but his mother had made it quite clear that he didn’t have a choice in the matter and come September 1st, he’d found himself on platform nine and three-quarters, quietly waiting to board the Hogwarts Express.

For the last two and a half months he’d kept a very low profile, mostly confining himself to his own chambers to read, study, or write long entries in his journal. Professor McGonagall had granted everyone, who had returned to finish their education, a private room away from the regular student body, and Draco while was most grateful for the additional privacy, this morning a heavy bout of cabin fever had driven him stir-crazy, and he’d left the castle to go for a long walk.

He’d intended to head to the Black Lake and find a secluded corner, but somehow his feet had carried him down to Hogsmeade, and after purchasing a few supplies and a bunch of sweets, he hadn’t been able to decide what to do with the rest of his day, and since he hadn’t wanted to return to Hogwarts so soon, he’d decided to treat himself to lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Afterwards, he’d kind of hung around, enjoying the warmth and the fact that nobody seemed to care that he was there. There’d been no strange looks or slurred insults of any kind.

Realising that it was his turn to come up with something utterly banal to keep this surreal, slow-paced conversation between him and Potter going, Draco stopped delving into his own mind and losing himself in his thoughts and memories.

He racked his brains for a moment or two, then the only half-sensible question, he could think of, slipped out.

“Aren’t you bored out of your head in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potter?”

Surprisingly, Potter grinned.

He sipped his mead and nodded.

“You’re probably just as bored in Potions.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. He was indeed bored out of his mind in Potions. The class wasn’t at all challenging, and while the potions they were brewing were rather advanced and extremely difficult to create, Draco didn’t have a problem with any of them.

So far, Slughorn had yet to present him with a brew that proved to be an actual obstacle.

“I reckon Slughorn’s making us research Alihotsy Draught in the hope that we’ll find something to laugh about,” he mused.

He vaguely remembered Slughorn telling them that they all needed to cheer up a bit and that he expected them to research the perfect way to induce an authentic snigger, which was a step required in the potion’s brewing process. A silly giggle and loud laughter were also needed, and while the actual recipe was rather easy to follow, almost everyone, who had returned to redo their seventh year at Hogwarts, struggled to show any sort of amusement on command.

Potter gave him a rather strange look, then shrugged.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind laughing hysterically for half an hour or so.”

Draco sneered and rolled his eyes at Potter.

He tried to bite his tongue, but his Slytherin shrewdness refused to let Potter off the hook, and before he knew it, Draco found himself making a very sarcastic response.

“Ah, yes, because who wouldn't want to behave like a hyena… What a truly marvellous use of our time.”

Potter looked at him for several seconds, then, as though possessed by some strange creature that forced him to act like a complete buffoon, he started giggling. His silly laugh turned into a chuckle and staring in disbelief, Draco watched as Potter snorted into his mead, then succumbed to a full-blown laughing fit.

Draco curled his lip in a mirthless smile.

“Classy, Potter, just classy.”

For some strange reason, his comment only seemed to fuel Harry’s desire to laugh like he’d actually inhaled some Laughing Potion.

“Do you need some Glumbumble treacle, Potter?”

Potter paused for a moment, held his gaze, inhaled deeply, then continued to laugh, huffing out some half-incomprehensible response about preferring treacle tart.

Draco looked at him in disdain, but then, and much to his own horror felt the strong desire to laugh. He tried to suppress it, but the more he tried, the stronger the itch became, and finally, unable to keep a straight face any longer, he started laughing.

They both giggled for several minutes, and once they managed to catch their breaths and calm down, Potter finished his pint glass and rose to his feet.

“I’ll get us another round. When I come back, that glass better be empty, Malfoy.”

Draco grinned.

“You bet it will be, Potter.”

He couldn’t quite comprehend how a goofy joke about potions had managed to break the ice between them, but he was in no mood to question anything. Not any time soon anyway.

* * *

* * *


	3. Two Drunken Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only the chapters (and stories) I've written in my head could automatically transcribe themselves onto a word document...
> 
> I'd have posted this chapter a lot sooner.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Harry tried his hardest to walk in a straight line, but despite his best efforts, he still managed to persistently stumble over a stone or a protruding root. It didn’t help that the path was slightly uneven. It being the middle of November meant that the sun had already set, and after several unsuccessful attempts to cast _Lumos_ , they’d given up and opted to walk in the dark.

When he did manage to correctly set one foot in front of the other without tripping over anything, Malfoy either dragged him off the path and to the left into the direction of the Forbidden Forest or walked right into him and caused him to lose his balance.

Harry couldn’t quite remember exactly how many pints he and Malfoy had consumed throughout the afternoon and although they’d, at some point, been smart enough to order some food, he felt slightly disoriented and somewhat dizzy from all the mulled mead.

“Are you sure we’re heading back up to the castle,” he asked.

Malfoy stopped slightly abruptly, and floundering a little, Harry struggled to keep his footing. He considered letting go of Malfoy’s arm, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to actually loosen his hold and pull away.

“Potter, you dunderhead, we’re walking up a hill. Where else would we be going?”

Harry shrugged.

He blinked several times. He didn’t think Malfoy’s logic made much sense but decided against pointing that particular fact out.

Some things were better left unsaid.

Malfoy’s silvery-grey eyes beamed in the dark, glowing way too brightly.

“Dunno. Can’t see very well.”

“Are you sure those glasses are right for you?”

Harry shrugged again.

“I’ve had them since I was eleven. I can see clearly if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Malfoy made a strange sort of sound.

It was a mixture between a strangled chortle and a disdainful huff of air.

“Potter, you know what astounds me time and time again?”

Harry raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“What?” he asked.

Malfoy held his gaze for a few seconds, then made a wry face.

“Your ability to say things only a blithering idiot would say.”

Harry laughed.

Malfoy mocking him wasn’t particularly funny, but after more than seven years of finding himself on the receiving end of Malfoy’s snide remarks and his snarky, sarcastic sass, he was well used to it. Somehow, and despite being drunk, Harry was rather sure of that, he rather liked the unusual way in which Malfoy paid attention to him.

Weirdly enough, it made him feel normal.

Where others sang his praises, Malfoy reminded him that none of the battles he’d fought, he’d fought alone. He’d always had help. When the wizarding world painted him as a hero in the press and put him on a pedestal for saving everyone from a complete maniac, Malfoy liked to help him remember that he was just an ordinary person.

Somehow, Malfoy’s taunts and his persistent teasing helped Harry to feel grounded. Even in his current befuddled state, he had no trouble coming to the conclusion that he’d very much missed bickering back and forth with Malfoy.

Now that the war was over, and even though people were still healing, things between them had changed. The fact that they’d spent an entire afternoon and half of the evening in the pub, drinking mulled mead, probably didn’t make them friends, but, and even though they had yet to part ways, Harry kind of hoped that Malfoy might like to hang out again. There was a natural sort of camaraderie between them that Harry couldn’t really explain.

Malfoy chose precisely that moment to sharply elbow him and pulled out of his own thoughts, Harry yelped and turned his head to glare at him.

“Come on, Potter, I don’t fancy sleeping outside because Filch closed the gates on us.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that late.”

Malfoy resumed walking, and because Harry hadn’t let go of his arm, he stumbled along.

They walked in silence for a few minutes when Harry suddenly had an epiphany. He fumbled with his coat, and slipping his hand between his body and the jacket, he drew his wand.

“I have an idea.”

Malfoy looked at the dark sky.

“Merlin help us. What is it then, Potter?”

Harry raised his wand into the air.

“I’m going to summon my broom. We can fly back. “Ac―”

Before he’d the chance to finish the incantation, Harry felt Malfoy’s long fingers grasp his hand. He forced him to lower his wand and point it at the ground.

“Are you absolutely fucking mental, Potter? You’re dead drunk, and you want to do magic? Do you bloody want to kill us both?”

“How is me summoning my broom going to kill us?”

Malfoy turned his head sideways and glared.

“Knowing you you’ll get the incantation right but mess up the wand movement, and I’d rather not you accidentally summon the entire broom cupboard or something equally as ridiculous.”

Harry laughed.

“Well, thank you, Malfoy, your lack of faith in me and my magical abilities is genuinely confidence-boosting.”

Malfoy scoffed.

“You defeated the Dark Lord with a Disarming Charm, of course, I doubt your magical abilities.”

Something about the irony of Malfoy’s statement made Harry burst into a fit of giggles, and he laughed uncontrollably and until his belly and his sides hurt. Given how much he’d laughed ever since he’d sat down at Malfoy’s table earlier today, that didn’t take very long at all.

Malfoy frowned at him, rolled his eyes, and grabbing his wand, he pulled it out of his hand and whacked him over the head with it, then thrust it against his chest.

Harry took it, sheathed it back into his chest holster, and then rubbed his head.

“You’re violent,” he mumbled.

Malfoy chuckled.

“Only when I’m drunk and in your company.”

We should make this a regular thing, was that was on the very tip of Harry’s tongue, but it seemed like a ridiculous thing to say, and so he decided to remain silent instead.

They continued to walk back up to the castle, and although they occasionally bickered back and forth as they stumbled along and tripped over everything no sober person with a decent sense of equilibrium ever lost their footing over, they mostly walked in silence.

Oddly enough, Malfoy seemed to have absolutely no problem with the fact that they were walking with their arms tightly linked together. There was virtually no gap between them, and Harry couldn’t remember ever having walked this close to another person. Now that the sun was gone, the temperatures had dropped sharply, and it was quite chilly, however, walking this close to Malfoy meant that the cold didn’t bother Harry at all.

They eventually made it back up to the castle, and as they stumbled up the stairs to the main gate, they promptly walked into none other than the Headmistress, who frowned at them and tugged her Scottish scarf a little tighter around her shoulders.

Staggering back, Harry tightened his hold on Malfoy, who hiccupped into the palm of his hand and stared at Professor McGonagall with his eyes wide open. It wasn’t fear exactly, more a healthy dose of respect for the person they’d bumped into.

“Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, lovely of you to join us. I do find it quite admirable that you’re practising inter-house unity, but is it really absolutely necessary to do this in the Three Broomsticks?”

Much to Harry’s horror, Malfoy, entirely uncharacteristically for himself, giggled in response to Professor McGonagall’s pointed question.

“Apologies, Headmistress, Harry and I will make sure to meet at Madam Puddifoot's next weekend. We’ll practise inter-house unity over sweet tea and treacle tart instead.”

Harry took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for a rather severe reprimand from Professor McGonagall along with the docking of several house points and the threat of detention. What he wasn’t quite ready for was the strange sort of smirk that flitted across Professor McGonagall’s face. It lasted only a split-second, then Professor McGonagall shook her head, adjusted her scarf once more and turned to walk back inside the castle. As she left, Harry could have sworn that he’d heard her mutter something about teenagers in love, but in his inebriated state, he decided not to trust his own ears.

* * *

* * *


	4. A Muggle's Guide To Advanced Human Transfiguration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there!
> 
> I took the entire day to write an update for two of my stories and I'm a little bit exhausted, but I've managed the impossible. ***grin***
> 
> I've been reading all your lovely comments, but life is a bit hectic so it's either writing or responding to your message. I figured you'd appreciate the former so I'm leaving the latter for another day.
> 
> Please enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Mindlessly twirling his quill between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, Harry surreptitiously glanced to his left.

It was Wednesday morning, and after oversleeping, he’d just about had enough time left to hastily pack his school bag and get dressed. After that, he’d raced down the stairs to make it in time for Advanced Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. He’d been the last one to breathlessly storm into the classroom. After fixing him with a very disapproving glare, Professor McGonagall had coolly ordered him to straighten his tie. She’d then stepped up onto the podium, faced the class and started to teach, making it perfectly clear that she wasn’t going to delay her course for anyone.

Harry had dithered at the door for a moment, sorted his tie knot, and as he walked past Ron’s and Hermione’s desk, his best friend had slipped him a brown paper bag with some food.

After carelessly stuffing the bagged breakfast into his worn-out brown leather satchel, he’d quietly sat down next to Malfoy. For some strange reason, it had been the only empty seat still available.

Malfoy hadn’t as much as looked at him but had politely inclined his head in silent acknowledgement when Harry had greeted him.

Absentmindedly, Harry was seriously struggling to listen to Professor McGonagall and her explanation of the spells they would be practising today. Instead, he studied Malfoy's elegantly slanted handwriting, focusing on the way his quill effortlessly moved over the parchment as he took notes.

It had been a few days since their drunken adventures in Hogsmeade, and despite having had several opportunities to strike up a conversation, they hadn’t spoken to each other. At least not since they’d returned to the castle and after Professor McGonagall had reprimanded them for their mulled mead shenanigans. They’d giggled over that for quite a while before eventually going their separate ways, each stumbling back to their own private rooms. Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether their tentative attempt to forge a friendship had been just that, a failed stab at trying to build a bridge over troubled and unpredictable waters.

Perhaps, Malfoy had, upon sobering up, decided that there was no point for them both to try and be friends. Harry rather hoped that this was just him overthinking things. He’d gotten rather good and doing that sort of thing in recent months.

Still distracted by Malfoy’s penmanship, His letters were all evenly sized, as was the spacing between his words. His l’s and e’s had narrow loops, and the dot above his i’s was more of a slash. He crossed his t’s right in the middle and used long lines to do so. All of his letters were rounded and connected except for his s’s, those were pointy with a sharp edge to it. Malfoy wasn’t applying a lot of pressure to the tip of his quill, and as such, it didn’t stain the parchment, and his long fingers remained relaxed.

Shaking his head, Harry pulled himself back into the present, and turning his head to look at Professor McGonagall, he dutifully followed the class for several minutes. He tried his hardest to resist the urge to glance to his left.

Eventually, however, his own impatience got the better of him. Dipping the tip of his quill into the inkpot between him and Malfoy, he scribbled a short message onto the empty parchment in front of him.

> _Hope your hangover wasn’t too bad. -HP_

He slid it over to Malfoy, who paused, turned to look at him, and after frowning deeply, he accepted the paper, staring at it for several seconds.

Harry nervously gnawed on his bottom lip and tried to focus on the elaborate wand movements, Professor McGonagall had drawn into the blackboard. Now, more so than ever, his eyes stubbornly continued to drift to his left and fixed themselves on Malfoy.

After several minutes, Malfoy elegantly dipped the tip of his quill into the inkpot, and wrote an aesthetic response underneath Harry’s nearly illegible scrawl, then pushed the paper across the desk and back to him.

> _That’s what Hangover Potion is for, Potter._

Harry stared at the message and each time he read it; he could practically hear Malfoy’s scathing drawl.

He shuddered.

Refraining from reading the message for the tenth time, he decided to reply to it instead.

> _I really enjoyed hanging out with you, Malfoy._

Harry pushed the parchment back towards Malfoy, who accepted it without as much as glancing at him and several minutes past before he lowered his quill and wrote a response.

> _Indeed a fitting conversation for AT, Potter. Pay attention, you complete dunderhead! There’s no do-over after this, and I most definitely won’t help you with Professor McGonagall’s essay. I doubt Granger will either. -DM_

After Malfoy pushed the paper back over to him, Harry couldn’t stop himself from sniggering quietly into the palm of his hand. Although he tried his best to conceal his amusement, he still managed to attract Professor McGonagall’s attention.

She instantly fell silent and glaring at him, she stepped off the podium in front of the blackboard and slowly approached them.

“Mr Potter, I see that you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself in my class. Care to enlighten us all so that we may partake in your amusement?”

Cringing, Harry hastily bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing and made an attempt to ball up the piece of parchment, he’d used to exchange messages with Malfoy. Much to his dismay, however, Professor McGonagall was a split-second faster, and flicking her wand, she summoned the crumpled paper right out of his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched Malfoy cringe, and jumping to his feet, he attempted to snag the paper out of the air but was unsuccessful in doing so.

Cursing under his breath, Harry bit his tongue for a second time. Malfoy sharply elbowed him between the rips, and glaring at the blond git, he then watched in horror as Professor McGonagall straightened out the paper. Her eyes flew across the paper and for a second, Harry could have sworn that he’d seen a flicker of a smile ghost across her face. But whether it had or it hadn’t, she quickly composed herself and lowering the parchment, she glowered at him.

“Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy! Writing notes in my class is something I might expect from a pair of first-year-students but not young adults such as yourselves. Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for your utterly childish behaviour and your lack of respect for my class as well as the importance of today’s spells.”

Fuming, Harry curled his fingers into tight fists and grumbling under his breath, he sat down and crossed his arms, defiantly over his chest. Much to his astonishment, Malfoy rose to his feet and stood behind their desk with his back ramrod straight.

“With all due respect, Professor, but I have been paying attention to your class, Ma’am.”

Harry swallowed a groan and uncrossing his arms, he tugged on Malfoy’s grey jumper, then snarled under his breath.

“Sit down, you bloody idiot.”

Malfoy simply shook him off.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, and with her lips pursed into a fine line, she braced herself on her cane, then asked Malfoy a question, Harry didn’t even understand half of.

Malfoy, however, responded without the slightest bit of hesitation. He spoke at length about Human Transfiguration, and even added bits and pieces of information, Harry was quite sure he hadn’t heard Professor McGonagall mention before this.

Once he’d finished speaking, Harry made a second, but entirely futile attempt, to get Malfoy to sit down. Malfoy shrugged his hand off again and turning his head, he glared daggers at him, then focused back on Professor McGonagall, who, shockingly, was smiling.

“Well said, Mr Malfoy. You might want to consider becoming a lawyer.”

In response to her career suggestion, Malfoy shook his head.

“No thanks, Headmistress, I’d rather become a Healer.”

“Not the easiest career choice, Mr Malfoy, but I think you’re rather qualified to handle the challenge.”

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”

Malfoy finally took his seat, and Professor McGonagall was about to resume her lecture when someone in the far back laughed in a half-suppressed and rather scornful way.

“As if anyone would ever be stupid enjoy to trust a Death Eater to cure them instead of killing them.”

Seeing red, Harry jumped to his feet and swirled around.

“What did you just say, Lloyd?”

A tall Ravenclaw with a healthy tan and light-brown hair rose to his feet and stepped out from behind his desk.

“You heard me, Potter, once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

Growling, Harry did the same.

He felt someone try and grab his wrist but yanked it away before they could get a good hold of him. Storming down the wide aisle between the rows of antique desks, he didn’t even bother drawing his wand.

Instead, he curled his fingers into a tight fist and took a big swing. He promptly bloodied Terence Lloyd’s nose. As his nasal bone shattered underneath the force of Harry’s right hook, it made a slightly weird cracking sound. Terence screamed and as is hands flew up to face to cover his now heavily bleeding nose, while Harry rubbed the sore knuckles of his right hand.

Half of the students in the classroom screeched, and he heard Professor McGonagall yell his name from the front of the class. He was about to turn around and accept his punishment and Terence slurred an insult under his breath, sounding oddly nasal.

“They should’ve expelled you a long time ago, Golden Boy.”

Already irritated, Harry felt a new wave of anger flare up inside his chest. Grinding his teeth together, he attempted to tackle Lloyd, but before he could do so, Ron restrained him, locking both his arms behind his back in a vice grip.

He tried to struggle against Ron, but it was no use. His best friend didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he just held him tighter.

“Stop it, Harry, you complete idiot.”

Harry growled.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of Professor McGonagall marching down the aisle, reprimanding him as she did so.

He didn’t listen.

Right this moment, he couldn’t care less about what she had to say and if she put him on the next train back to London then so be it. He was about to tell her so when Ron pushed him towards the door while trying to appease Professor McGonagall, who sounded positively thunderous.

“I’ll deal with him, Headmistress, please continue with the class.”

Before Professor McGonagall could contest the fact that Ron had blatantly taken charge of the situation, Harry found himself forced out the door. It fell closed behind them before the Headmistress had the chance to dock house points or give him detention for the rest of the year.

Once he and Ron were outside in the corridor, Ron let him go and roughly shoved him against, causing him to stumble a bit before he found his footing.

Harry cursed under his breath.

“What the fuck, Ron!”

“Exactly, Harry, what the fuck got into you?! You complete moron, you can’t just go around beating people up, mate!”

Harry huffed out a breath of air and glowering at Ron, he defiantly crossed his arms over his chest.

“That tosser called Malfoy a Death Eater!”

Ron sighed.

“Yes, he did. So what?”

Furrowing his brows and narrowing his eyes into tiny slits, Harry felt his face heat. It wasn’t embarrassment but anger.

“What the hell, Ron! The war is over, it’s done. Malfoy’s trying to put his life back together, he deserves a fair chance, not some twat like Lloyd spouting that kind of shit about him.”

“Chill, Harry. I didn’t say he deserved it. But did you see Malfoy lose his rag about what Lloyd said? No. He was calm and rational. You’re a bloody hothead, Harry, cut it out! What good is it going to do?”

Stomping his foot in annoyance, Harry glared icy daggers at Ron, then grumbled under his breath and turning his heel he stormed off, still fuming.

Ron called after him, but he stubbornly ignored him and headed down the long corridor, then turned around a corner, and disappeared. He didn’t pay much attention to where he was heading. Soon enough, he found himself outside on the grounds and shivering against the bitter cold, he headed towards Hagrid’s hut.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in finding out how a person's handwriting might link in with their personality, feel free to check out of this link: ["What does your handwriting say about you?"](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2380858/What-does-handwriting-say-Study-finds-5-000-personality-traits-linked-write.html)
> 
> You might even be able to work out how I picture Draco in his story...


	5. Lakeshore Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a bit of distraction tonight, so this happened.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x
> 
> P.S. Thank you for your continued comments, I'm reading them all and I will get back to you soon!

* * *

* * *

Harry walked out of the infirmary, and as the heavy double doors fell closed behind him, he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed softly. The last two hours hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park, but after a long and honest conversation with Terence, they’d both apologised to each other.

After his epic meltdown in Professor McGonagall’s class, he’d spent the rest of the day with Hagrid, who’d patiently listened to his complaints before firmly reprimanding him for losing his temper in class.

It had been warm and comfortable inside Hagrid’s hut, and Harry had felt safe there. Hagrid didn’t have any expectations for him. He didn’t ask him to accompany him into the Forbidden Forest and he didn’t talk about the war.

Instead, Hagrid talked about his classes, the creatures he was responsible for and the impressive list of things he had to do in preparation for Christmas and the Yule Ball.

When his stomach had started rumbling sometime around lunchtime, expressing its dissatisfaction about not having been fed in twenty hours, Hagrid had offered him some freshly baked bread, taken from the large rack above his crackling open fire. The oversized slice of bread had still been hot and the thick piece of cheese, Hagrid had retrieved from one of his cupboards, had melted into the delicious-tasting cottage loaf.

Around dinner time, Hagrid had escorted him back to the castle, and they’d walked up there in comfortable silence, and entered the Great Hall together. Harry hadn’t really been in the mood to join his friends for dinner, but Hagrid refused to allow him to turn around and hide in his room. He’d boldly reassured him, promising him that his friends wouldn’t force him to talk about what had happened during Advanced Transfiguration. Since spending the day with Hagrid had somewhat restored his confidence, Harry had quietly sat down next to Ron, who’d merely wrapped an arm around him and given him a friendly pat on the back.

Turning a corner, Harry, still lost in his own thoughts, promptly bumped into a tall figure and stumbled backwards.

When he looked up, he found himself looking straight into Malfoy’s eyes and blinked.

“Err, uhm, I―”

Malfoy smirked.

“Eloquent as ever, Potter,” he said.

Harry shrugged.

“Old habits die hard,” he mumbled.

Malfoy chuckled.

“Very hard, it seems. Got plans?”

Harry shook his head.

“No,” he said.

“Fancy a walk down to the Black Lake?”

“So that you can drown me for defending your honour even though you didn’t ask for it?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Harry grinned.

“Alright, let’s go then. Just, you know, give me a fair warning before you push me into the lake. I want to at least try and fight for my life.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Malfoy drawled.

He turned on his heel and slowly headed into the direction, he’d just come from. Harry fell into step beside him, and they made their way down several corridors towards the Entrance Hall.

“Why not?” he asked, curious.

Malfoy turned his head sideways and looked at him.

“We don’t have the best track record when it comes to duelling, Potter, I think in our case, the third time won’t be the charm.”

A rumble of laughter bubbled up from deep down, and Harry let burst out of him.

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow at him but didn’t say anything. He did, however, nudge him with his shoulder as they walked down the steps and crossed the courtyard.

Although Harry had a couple of things he wanted to say to Malfoy, he couldn’t bring himself to break the comfortable silence between them. Somehow, there was nothing awkward about it. He felt relaxed and free from constraint, and even though it was rather chilly outside, being near Malfoy made Harry feel pleasantly warm. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he was less aware of the strong gusts of wind and the icy temperatures. They reached the lakeshore soon enough, and as they strolled alongside it, Harry bent down to pick up a flat stone.

He tossed it into the lake, and it skipped over the surface before finally disappearing into the depths of the water.

Malfoy’s eyes followed the stone, and he stopped walking and stared out over the lake for quite some time, then slowly turned to face him and smiled.

“I can’t wait to go ice-skating,” he said with a gleeful expression.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Harry looked away and coughed awkwardly.

“I’ve never tried it,” he mumbled.

Malfoy inhaled sharply.

“Potter, please tell me you’re joking!”

Harry shook his head.

“Nope, I don’t own a pair of skates,” he said.

Turning his head, he glanced at Malfoy and shrugged.

Malfoy looked at him with a genuinely incredulous expression.

“How is it that you’re eighteen years old but have never been ice-skating? Did Weasley never take you? I’m sure Granger knows how to skate.”

Harry shrugged again.

“I was kinda busy trying not to get killed these past seven years.”

Malfoy held his gaze for a moment, then shook his head.

“I’m taking you ice-skating next month, Potter, no objections.”

Harry chuckled.

“That keen on seeing me fall on my arse?”

Malfoy smirked.

“Yes. I hope it’ll happen repeatedly. It’s been a while since you’ve given me something to laugh about.”

“Did I not try hard enough yesterday?”

Malfoy’s cheeks pinked a little, and averting his gaze, he turned to look out over the lake.

Harry moved to stand next to him and nudged his arm gently.

“Sorry about that. I just, you know, saw red, I guess?”

Malfoy glanced sideways.

“Actually― I did appreciate you stepping up for me the way you did. I didn’t expect it, but, well, thank you, Potter― _Harry_.”

Harry couldn’t work out whether it was the strong gust of wind that caused him to shudder or the fact that Malfoy had called him by his first name. When not laced with his signature scathing sarcasm, Malfoy’s voice actually sounded quite soft, and Harry rather liked it.

“You’re, erm, welcome― Draco.”

Malfoy smiled at him.

He held his gaze for a few moments, then looked back out over the lake.

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

The word slipped past Harry’s lips before he’d consciously considered saying it.

“Next time you feel the unquenchable desire to defend my honour, please limit yourself to yelling at them or throwing a hex in their general direction. If you’re going to beat up everyone who calls me a Death Eater, you’ll be needing a whole bottle of Skele-Gro just for yourself.”

Harry grimaced.

“I hate that stuff.”

Malfoy smiled.

“Then, please, refrain from breaking any more bones.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good.”

They fell quiet again and after a while, they continued their aimless stroll by the lakeshore.

Harry pulled his coat tighter around himself and cursed the fact that he hadn’t bothered to stuff his scarf into one of its pockets.

“I’m taking you shopping on Saturday, Potter. That coat is neither warm enough for this season, nor does it look at all fashionable. If you ask me, it belongs to the bottom of the Black Lake, and even that’s still a little too good for it.”

Harry frowned and glanced down his front.

Yes, his coat was a little bit too big for him, but he rather liked it. It was old and tattered but also comfortable. He’d had it for a few years and didn’t really like the idea of parting company with it.

“But―”

“Harry Potter, if the next words out of your mouth are that you like this coat, I will hex you, that much I can promise you.”

Harry grumbled under his breath but didn’t say anything else. He was suddenly far too occupied by the implication of Malfoy’s statement and the fact that he wanted to hang out again.

Next Saturday.

In Hogsmeade.

The two of them.

Shopping.

Harry glanced at the ground and smirked to himself.

He fought the urge to thrust his fist high into the air and yell “Yes!” at the top of his lungs.

Instead, he tried to agree to Malfoy’s suggestion, making sure that he sounded as casual as he possibly could.

“I suppose we can look at a winter jacket or two.”

Malfoy chuckled.

“You bet we will.”

“And after? Are we going to Madame Puddifoot’s?”

Malfoy abruptly stopped walking and looked at him with an absolutely incredulous expression.

“Potter, you complete dunce, I might be gay, but there’s absolutely no chance in hell I will ever set a single toe into that awful place. The decoration in there gives me a migraine.”

* * *

* * *


	6. A Good Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, enjoy?  
> I don't have much to say, except for, thank you so much for all the love you've been sending me through your wonderful comments. You make me so happy. Thank you, truly. It means the world to me, properly more than you'll ever know. You put more than a smile on my face.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

A loud snap right in front of his face caused Draco to instantly snap out of his thoughts with a start, and sitting up straight, he thumped the table and glowered darkly at Blaise.

Blaise merely raised an eyebrow at him, making it perfectly clear that he was not in the least bit intimidated by the daggers Draco kept throwing at him with his eyes.

“My dear Draco, would it be at all possible for us to actually have whatever conversation you and I just privately had in your head?”

Draco sighed.

He twisted his fingers together and pulled them apart again, dithering, unsure whether to confide in Blaise or not. It was really rather ridiculous. He and Blaise had been good friends since before they’d started to attend Hogwarts together. Over the years, he’d shared quite a few secrets with Blaise, who, unlike Pansy, had never once gone blabbing.

Draco stared at his friend and sighed again.

It hadn’t been much of a feat to work out that he was attracted to boys. He’d had his suspicions around the age of twelve, but beyond kissing a boy or two, he hadn’t appropriately experimented with his sexuality until he’d turned fifteen.

After the first time he’d properly messed about with a boy, a fellow Slytherin, he had been absolutely sure. He was gay, and while he’d never told his father, he’d confided in his mother the summer before the Dark Lord had taken over Malfoy Manor. She’d never once said a word to anyone or attempted to somehow guilt him into producing an heir. Instead, she’d reassured him that his secret was safe with her and that he was free to chase his own happiness.

They’d talked about children and continuing the Malfoy line once. That had been earlier this year. He’d been the one to instigate the conversation, asking her what she thought of him possibly marrying another man and not continuing the Malfoy line. She’d merely smiled, patted the back of his hand and told him that he was still young and that there were ways and means for gay men to conceive children.

Her utterly open-minded opinion about the whole subject had somewhat floored him, and it had taken him several days to really comprehend just how lucky he was. Post-war, and even before that, his mother had undoubtedly learnt her lesson. Family and his happiness were more important to her than anything else.

Most of his Slytherin friends also knew that he was gay. He’d never made a big deal about it and never had they. Being gay wasn’t a hugely big deal in the wizarding world. It was rather common, and while Pureblood wizards and witches cared about producing heirs and continuing the family line, they weren’t the sort of people who denied themselves certain pleasures.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Draco reached for a sugar quill and aimlessly toyed with it. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to tell Blaise or not. He and Potter had only met up once and gone for a walk together, and although the whole school knew that Harry Potter had defended his honour ― the news had spread like wildfire ― he wasn’t keen on talking about Potter’s and his budding friendship. He wasn’t even sure if that was the appropriate term with which he could describe Potter’s and his new strange camaraderie.

Whenever he found himself in Potter’s company, he certainly felt good, but giving the whole thing a name somehow made it so much more real, and also terrifying. The other day, when they’d shared a bench together in Advanced Transfiguration, he’d only resolved to take notes to stop himself from staring at Potter’s profile for the entire duration of the class. It had taken him every ounce of self-control to keep his eyes on the parchment, and when Potter― Harry had jumped up and heroically, as well as foolishly, stood up for him, his heart had thumped wildly in his chest. Potter certainly was the kind of guy who was either all in or all out. There didn’t seem to be much of a middle ground with him.

“Look if you’re not comfortable sharing, I’ll back off, but you’ve been lost in your own head for the last two days. Are you sure getting things off your chest wouldn’t make you feel better?”

Draco found Blaise’s offer to listen to his problems rather heart-warming and suppressing a third sigh, he mustered a little smile, then sucked on his sugar quill.

“I told Potter that I’m gay.”

For a moment, Draco fully expected his friend to laugh, but since Blaise wasn’t the sort of person who listened to your troubles and then joked about them, Draco hastily chastised himself for thinking ill of his childhood friend.

Blaise hummed in silent acknowledgement and nodded his head.

“Are you worried about what he might think?”

Draco nodded.

“Did he say anything after you told him?”

Draco shook his head.

“Uhm no, he just looked at me for a while, but he had that strange expression in his eyes, I don’t know like he was shocked and awed at the same time. It makes no sense.”

Blaise shrugged.

“Not everything in the world has to make sense, Drake.”

Draco sighed.

He continued to suck on his sugar quill, and the sweet treat made him feel somewhat more relaxed, but it didn’t fully ease his mind.

“I just don’t know,” he mumbled, then paused for a moment to sort through the complete mess in his head.

“Potter doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who has an issue with anyone being gay, but―”

Before Draco managed to get lost in his own intricate logic, Blaise took the liberty to interrupt him.

“I think you’re overthinking this whole thing a bit. What were you talking about when you told him?”

“Erm―”

Draco felt his cheeks heat and looked away.

He heard Blaise chuckle softly.

It wasn’t a mocking laugh, just an amused sort of reaction to his current inability to articulately express himself.

“Go on, you’ve told me this much, now tell me the rest.”

Draco groaned inwardly and pressed his lips together, trying to resist the pull of Blaise’s smooth voice. Somehow, once you started opening up, Blaise had the uncanny talent to make you want to open up more and more. Mind, he never abused this particular skill of his, and Draco wasn’t even sure if it was a skill or whether it was just the way he felt about his friend.

“We were making plans to meet up in Hogsmeade on Saturday, erm, tomorrow. That winter coat, he’s always wearing, is such an eyesore. I want to get him something a lot more fashionable.”

Blaise smiled.

“Way to go, Drake, you’ve always had a knack for coming out right at the perfect time. Now you know why he looked at you like you’d just grown a second head. You don’t just jump people with that sort of stuff, but you gently ease the conversation towards a topic that’s a little more related to what you want to say.”

Draco frowned.

“Kind of just slipped out, I didn’t even think about it.”

Blaise leant forward and nudged his shoulder with a loose fist.

“Tomorrow, get him drunk, then snog him senseless.”

Draco looked positively affronted.

“Blaise Zabini, you are incorrigible! I don’t fancy Harry Potter, never have, never will. We’re just friends, I think.”

Blaise gave him a lopsided grin, then rose to his feet, stretched, and patted his back.

“Sure, you don’t,” he said.

Draco kept his mouth closed and expressed his continued indignation with a sulky “Hmpf!”

Blaise laughed.

He squeezed his shoulders, and although Draco haphazardly tried to shake him off, he wasn’t actually seriously offended. There was something about the way Blaise always teased him that made it rather impossible for him to get really angry.

“Just have a good time with him tomorrow, Drake. Enjoy yourself, laugh, have a few drinks, talk nonsense. Stop brooding, we’ve all done enough of that over the last couple of years. It’s time to lighten up, be silly and enjoy the little bit of youth we’ve got left.”

Draco grumbled but rose to his feet and straightened his robes.

“Why do you always sound like someone with fifty years of life experience.”

Blaise shrugged.

“Dunno, I have answers for a lot of things, my friend, but not that. Maybe I’m just an old man in a young boy’s body, or maybe I’m just talking a whole lot of nonsense, but somehow manage to wrap it up nicely so that people buy my advice. Come on, let’s head up for dinner. I’m famished.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You always are.”

* * *

* * *


	7. She Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two chapters in one day. Why not? I don't think you'll complain...
> 
> Enjoy...hopefully.  
> I'm dragging myself to bed.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Somewhat horrified, Harry stared down at the more or less black parchment in front of him.

In the last two hours, he’d managed to write one sentence.

Four words.  
  


> **_Draco Malfoy is gay._ **

  
That had taken him several seconds to scribble onto his parchment.

The rest of the time he’d wasted looking out of the window, staring off into the distance, musing about the various shapes of clouds and thinking up Quidditch strategies.

He’d most definitely not made any progress on his essay for Charms. He hadn’t even started on it.

Sighing, Harry put his quill down and stared at the four words he’d written.

His jaw had nearly dropped to the when Malfoy had, so very casually confessed his sexual preference, and it had taken him every ounce of self-restraint not to ask Malfoy a million and one questions.

 _It’s as though he doesn’t care_ , Harry thought to himself, _he probably doesn’t_.

He wasn’t irked about the news and yet he was, but could absolutely not put his finger on what was troubling him about Malfoy’s revelation.

It had certainly made him think about a few things, or at least his brain had attempted to stir his thoughts into a certain direction, but he’d vehemently shut any and all of those attempts down. He was not yet ready to open that particular can of worms, or whatever else it entailed.

A knock on his door pulled Harry out of his thoughts, and hastily covering up the parchment in front of him, he rose to his feet and attempted to casually lean against the edge of his writing desk.

“Can I come in?”

Hermione’s voice travelled through the thin wooden door, and relaxing a little, Harry found himself nodding, then realised that his friend couldn’t see him.

He shook his head at his own stupidity and cleared his throat.

“Sure,” he called back.

The doorknob turned, and a few seconds later, Hermione poked her head through the gap between the door and its frame.

“Are you planning on missing dinner?”

Hermione’s question was casual, but her mild concern for him wasn’t entirely lost on Harry. Frowning, he glanced down at his Muggle wristwatch and toyed with the tattered dark-brown leather strap.

It was nearly dinnertime and feeling a pang of hunger deep inside his belly, Harry pushed away from his desk.

“I hadn’t planned on not eating,” he said.

He didn’t think that his words would convince Hermione, but it had never stopped him from trying. Whatever he did to reassure her, she never stopped acting like his big sister. Now that she and Ron had finally gotten their act together and were officially dating, she wasn’t as obnoxious about forcing her advice on everyone around her, but she still found time to worry.

As he approached her, Hermione pushed the door a little further open and stepping over the threshold, Harry allowed her to hook her arm around his.

He smiled.

“Careful or Ron might get jealous.”

Hermione chuckled.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

Turning his head, Harry looked at Hermione and held her gaze for several moments. There was a strange sort of twinkle in her eyes, one he didn’t know how to interpret correctly. Then again, Hermione’s knowing looks and that odd expression she used when she knew something about you, you had absolutely no idea about, were rather difficult to decipher. Harry had given up on it a long time ago, and so had everyone around him. There was absolutely no point to it. Despite Hermione’s nearly unquenchable desire to share her knowledge, she wasn’t the sort of person who revealed secrets that weren’t hers to tell.

It was one of the many reasons why Harry considered himself lucky to be friends with Hermione. Yes, she’d pushed him to return to Hogwarts, but apart from that, she’d not forced him to do anything else. She’d tentatively suggested that he might try talking to a professional, a trained Mind Healer perhaps, and she’d given him contact information, but she hadn’t forced him to actually make an appointment.

Instead, she gave him space. She spent a lot of her time with Ron, but Harry was reasonably sure that even though she was happy and in love, she also kept a close eye on him. She wasn’t making it especially apparent, but the signs were there, and Harry genuinely appreciated knowing that she was there for him, no matter what or when or where.

Come to think of it, Ron was much the same.

Harry was pretty sure that he and Hermione had made some kind of pact, agreeing to mostly leave him be, but intermittently make their presence known, if only to say hello. Most days a small gesture like that was enough for him to find the necessary energy to drag himself out of his own head.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

They’d just reached the Common Room, and Hermione’s unexpected question startled Harry out of his thoughts.

He dithered for a second, and since he hadn’t exactly told Hermione, or Ron, that he and Malfoy were attempting to build bridges, he really didn’t know how to answer her question.

“Err―”

Hermione chuckled.

“Coherent as always, Harry,” she said.

Harry grinned and shrugged, treasuring her light humour.

Stalling for time, he decided to ask a question of his own.

“Why do you ask?”

Hermione turned her head to look at him. She had that all-knowing look in her eyes, the one that told Harry that she knew exactly what he was doing but wasn’t bothered enough to actively point his flaws out to him. She had a wicked sort of way of doing so by not saying anything at all. The way she looked at you made you realise it; for the most part anyway.

“I thought you might like to join us. We want to go for a bit of a hike around the lake and then gather in the Three Broomsticks for a late lunch or early dinner, then maybe a bit of a stroll through the village and back up to the castle.”

Harry smiled.

“Sounds like a great day.”

Hermione raised one bushy eyebrow at him.

“But?” she asked.

Harry felt his face heat a little and hastily averted his gaze.

“Iactuallyhaveplansalready.”

He forced the words past his lips, stumbling over them in his hurry to get them out and prayed that Hermione wouldn’t press him for more information.

This time, however, he wasn’t so lucky.

“I assume those plans don’t include you hiding away in your own room?” she asked.

Harry shook his head.

“I’ve got a, erm, a―”

Not quite sure what it was he, and Malfoy had tomorrow, Harry paused and dragging his bottom lip into his mouth, he gnawed on it.

Hermione didn’t say anything.

He didn’t know whether she was patiently waiting for him to elaborate, or whether she was satisfied with his answer that really was no answer at all.

Racking his brains for a few moments, Harry eventually decided to give her a little bit more information.

“I’m, uhm, a friend and I have made plans to spend the day together.”

There was that knowing smile again, and this time Harry couldn’t help but frown.

“What?” he asked.

Hermione merely shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said. “I think it’s great that you’re trying to get out a bit more. Just remember to wrap up from, it’s going to be quite chilly tomorrow. There might even be a bit of snow in the evening.”

“Er, thanks, I guess.”

Despite thanking Hermione for her concern, Harry didn’t actually believe her. It was never _nothing_ with Hermione. He knew her better than that. But he also wasn’t about to push to try and get to the bottom of the odd looks, she kept giving him, and all of her strange and mysterious comments. Harry knew exactly that if he asked her, she would make him spill the beans, and since he didn’t think that there was anything to confess, he wasn’t in any hurry to start that particular conversation.

Yes, when it came to any sort of interaction, he and Malfoy didn’t exactly have the best track record, but at least they were now genuinely trying to forge a friendship or whatever one called the desire to want to hang out with another person. Harry didn’t think it would be easy, but since nothing in his life had ever been especially easy, that didn’t deter him from giving this its best shot.

So far, he and Malfoy had managed to resist hexing each other, and he had a funny feeling that this wasn’t going to change any time soon. Malfoy, as it turned out, was actually quite a funny guy. Underneath it all, he was smart, had a great sense of humour, even if it was scathing and heavily-laced with sass and sarcasm, and he cared. There was a soft side to him, and like with all things Malfoy, Harry felt inexplicably drawn to it. He wanted to know more; he wanted to know everything.

* * *

* * *


	8. Potter, The Heathen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, oh my, I had such fun writing this chapter.  
> I think I laughed out loud on one or two occasions.
> 
> I've got to run and teach, enjoy.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror.

A deep frown had etched itself into his forehead, and it refused to disappear.

Malfoy had all but thrust a single-breasted Sherpa-lined mid-length dark-grey coat with deep pockets and a high collar at him, stubbornly insisting that he try it on. They’d argued back and forth for the last ten minutes with Harry trying his best to tell Malfoy that such a coat didn’t suit him, and Malfoy using all manner of fancy words to essentially tell him to shut up.

Though, in all honesty, the comment that had amused Harry the most had been when Malfoy had drawn his wand and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d casually toyed with his wand, and with a sinister glower, he’d threatened to magically sew his mouth shut.

Harry sighed.

“Look, Malfoy, this isn’t me; I look like a ponce in this,” he mumbled.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, pocketed his wand, and stepped between him and the mirror.

“You look like a rag doll without it,” he said.

“What’s wrong with my old coat? I happen to rather like it.”

Malfoy sighed theatrically.

“The only thing that coat is good for is to start a fire. This one hugs you in all the right places. You look great like this.”

Harry swallowed and for a moment he held Malfoy’s gaze, but averted his eyes when he felt his cheeks heat, and staring at the floor between him and Malfoy, he awkwardly shuffled his feet back and forth.

“Does it have to be grey?” he asked quietly.

“No, black would suit you just as well.”

Malfoy’s voice was strangely soft and entirely devoid of his usual scathing sarcasm. Harry tried to resist the urge to look up again, but since he, for the life of him, couldn’t find anything unusual about the floor or his and Malfoy’s feet, he didn’t manage to ignore the pull that forced him to meet Malfoy’s gaze yet again.

Upon looking up, he found Malfoy smiling at him, and swallowing hard, he parted his lips to say something, but his vocal cords decided to thwart his intentions.

“You look stunning in this coat, Harry. I’ve no reason to lie to you. Trust me, the entire female wizarding population will bow at your feet.”

Harry snorted.

“They already do that.”

Malfoy grinned.

“True. Well, put it this way, getting a date for the Yule Ball next month will be a piece of treacle tart.”

Harry laughed.

“Even you know my obsession with that particular dessert.”

Malfoy shrugged.

“I believe the entire Wizarding World knows.”

Harry shook his head and taking a step to the side, he took another look at the mirror. He adjusted the coat, then pushed his hands into the garment’s pockets, and forced himself to stop frowning quite so much.

“Do you really like this coat on me?” he asked.

Although he felt tempted, he didn’t look directly at Malfoy, who chuckled.

“You look quite handsome, Potter, stop fishing for compliments. It’s unbecoming, even for the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself.”

Through the mirror, Harry silently watched as Malfoy moved to stand behind him. He peeled off his own dark-green scarf and silver Slytherin scarf, and when he moved to drape it around his neck instead, Harry stood motionless and held his breath for several seconds.

“There, now you look utterly perfect. Slytherin’s house colours complement your green eyes.”

Despite his embarrassment, Harry wordlessly accepted the praise. He tried his hardest to ignore the funny feeling in his chest and the fact that his skin tingled pleasantly all over.

The fragrance, Harry didn’t know whether it was a cologne or not, that clung to Malfoy’s scarf was rather intoxicating. It was a strange blend of citrus and something else. Something Harry didn’t have a name for. Inhaling deeply, he savoured the scent. He felt a bit heady, and blinking, he pulled his hands out of the coat’s pockets and adjusted the scarf. It didn’t need adjusting at all, but Harry couldn’t entirely control the itch in his fingertips that drove him to touch what wasn’t his. The wool felt exceptionally soft between his fingers, and unwilling to let go, Harry stared at Malfoy through the mirror.

A million thoughts were running rampant inside his head, and he didn’t know how to control any of them. He couldn’t even make sense of them. It was all just a muddled mess, and feeling dizzy he momentarily closed his eyes and gnawed on his bottom lip.

He felt Malfoy’s hand squeeze his shoulder, and letting his eyes snap open, he turned to face Malfoy.

“You OK?” Malfoy asked.

Thankful for the distraction, Harry nodded hastily.

“Yes, yes. It’s just a bit hot in here with that coat on.”

Malfoy smiled.

“Take it off then. Do you want me to go and find a black one?”

Swallowing, Harry nodded mutely, and inclining his head gracefully, Malfoy turned on the heels of his winter boots and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Hogsmeade was a small village, but it was a wizarding village and as such most of the small boutiques that lined streets weren’t so tiny on the inside. Complicated extension charms allowed for the inside of the shops to be double or even triple the size, and many establishments had more than one cellar level. Although Harry was well used to the wonders of magic, things like this still blew his mind and made him look around in awe.

Shrugging the coat off, Harry took another look at it and all of a sudden, the idea of wearing such a fashionable item didn’t seem all that daunting. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the way Malfoy had looked at him or the compliments he’d made him, but now that he thought about it, Harry decided that he really wanted this coat. He wanted it more than anything, and for some strange and entirely inexplicable reason, he trusted Malfoy.

There was no way Malfoy was looking to publicly embarrass him. Sure, he enjoyed being a sarcastic wisecracker, but that was just the way Malfoy was. He’d always been like that. Harry suspected that it was Mal― Draco’s way of hiding his insecurities behind an ironclad mask of complete sass. It was his security blanket, and try as he might, Harry couldn’t find any fault in his coping mechanism. It worked for Malfoy and that was good enough for Harry.

These days, Harry’s life policy was ‘ _whatever worked, worked_ ’.

Glancing at his old coat, Harry chuckled to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

Malfoy’s low drawl startled him, and turning to look at him, Harry grinned.

“I just had an idea.”

Malfoy laughed.

“Careful there, you don’t want to overtax those precious grey cells.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ha, bloody, ha.”

Malfoy shrugged.

“You deserved that one.”

Harry frowned.

“You always say that.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

Malfoy grinned.

“Must be true then.”

“Don’t tempt me into hexing you, prat.”

Malfoy chuckled.

“Aw, Potter, you say the nicest things.”

Harry resisted the urge to growl but glowered at Malfoy, who merely continued to chuckle under his breath while his silvery-grey eyes danced with amusement.

“Do you me to share my idea or not?”

“If you can’t stop yourself, by all means, out with it.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Gosh, you can be such a prick sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? Whatever I’m doing wrong?”

Harry snorted.

The ridiculousness of his and Malfoy’s conversation amused him greatly, and meeting Malfoy’s gaze, he held it as they comfortably chortled away. Harry wasn’t quite sure what they were laughing about, but he didn’t really care either way.

Several minutes past, but eventually they managed to calm down enough to speak, and Harry pointed at his old winter coat.

“I thought, since you hate this one so much, I might as well let you _Incendio_ it,” he said.

Malfoy’s eyes gleamed with delight, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes please, the best idea you ever had.”

“And here was me thinking that the best idea I ever had was to kill Voldemort.”

Malfoy grinned.

“Yeah, that one wasn’t so bad either. Only you would think of doing it with a Disarming Spell.”

Harry poked his tongue out at Malfoy.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Malfoy smiled.

“Lucky for you.”

Harry shrugged.

“I was counting on you jumping in if it didn’t.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Ha, bloody, ha, Potter. Hilarious.”

“I know, right?”

“While we’re on the topic of burning your hideous clothing, take those jeans off too. You dress like a complete heathen, Potter, and if you keep doing it, your public image will be in the toilet before the year is out.”

Harry looked affronted.

“But I like these jeans!” he protested quite vehemently.

“Potter, I swear, take them off, or I will vanish them to the bottom of the Black Lake with you still in them.”

“But―”

Malfoy held up his hand.

“No, Potter, just no. Off, they go, or I go.”

“That’s not fair.”

Malfoy shrugged.

“I don’t do fair. Strip.”

Harry grumbled.

“You could at least take me on a proper date first before making that kind of demand,” he grumbled under his breath, but grudgingly complied with Malfoy’s request and unbuttoned his jeans.

When he’d realised what he’d just said, he couldn’t help but blush furiously, and averting his gaze, he made a dash for one of the nearby changing cubicles. As he stormed past Malfoy, he grabbed the pair of trousers, Malfoy held in his hands, and dragged it with him without as much as looking at the garment, Malfoy had picked out for him. He fought with the curtain and stomped his feet when he heard Malfoy laugh heartily.

“No problem, Potter. If it’s a date you want, a date you shall have. I’m the last one to turn down a fit bloke, even if he’s a complete Gryffindork.”

Turning around, Harry poked his head out of the small changing room and frowned at Malfoy.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“It means we’re going on a date next weekend.”

“And who says I want to go on a date with you?”

Malfoy shrugged.

“I do.”

Harry spluttered and opening his mouth, he was away to make a snarky remark, when Malfoy looked up and straight at him.

“Seeker’s match, Potter. Just you and me. Loser buys dinner in Hogsmeade. Are you in or are you out?”

Gaping, Harry’s vocal cords betrayed him yet again, and he only managed to hum in response.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

“In or out? I’ll only ask once. Getting the Quidditch pitch for just the two of us is gonna be a complete pain, so you better make that trip up to McGonagall’s office worth my time.”

Harry considered the offer for a second. He hadn’t played against Malfoy in nearly two years, and although he’d always won, he couldn’t deny that he rather liked the idea. Malfoy was a damn good seeker and he played a seriously good game. Harry swallowed a large amount of drool that had gathered in his mouth and nodded.

“In,” he croaked.

Malfoy grinned.

“Fantastic choice, I’m looking forward to beating your arse straight out of the sky, Potter.”

Pursing his lips, Harry glared at Malfoy but didn’t say anything. Instead, he withdrew back into the changing cubicle and peeled his old, tattered jeans off. He took a proper look at the jet-black jeans, Malfoy had picked out of him and frowned. They weren’t precisely skin-tight, but not far off from it. Harry was convinced that there was absolutely no way he’d manage to squeeze his muscular calves and thighs inside those trouser legs but decided to try anyway.

He took the jeans off their clothes hanger and undoing the top button, he pulled the zipper down, then attempted to try the garment on. To his complete astonishment, the trouser legs effortlessly slid up his legs. The jeans fit him like a second layer of skin and trying it on properly, he stepped out from behind the curtain and looked at himself in the floor-length mirror.

“Fuck, Potter.”

Looking back over his shoulder, Harry couldn’t help but grin.

“These look good,” he admitted rather sheepishly.

Malfoy grinned.

“These look more than good, Potter, they look like you’re buying them, and if you refuse, I’ll buy them for you.”

“No need, I actually happen to like them.”

Malfoy let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank Merlin, and here was I thinking I’d have to threaten with more jinxes.”

Harry grinned and shook his head.

“Nah, you’ve worn me down.”

“Didn’t take much.”

“Oi, Malfoy, behave yourself.”

Malfoy’s lopsided grin turned into a dirty smirk.

“Nah, not today. I’m feeling bratty.”

“You’re incorrigible, Malfoy.”

Malfoy arched an eyebrow for him.

“Uh, did Granger gift you a Thesaurus for your birthday, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Very funny.”

* * *

* * *


	9. Laughter Is The Best Medicine

* * *

* * *

Winter meant that the sun was slow in the sky, but it wasn’t low enough for Harry not to rely on its steady rays to reflect on the shiny surface of the golden practice Snitch, he and Malfoy had released into the air about a good hour and some forty-five minutes ago.

Malfoy had insisted that it had taken him less than five minutes to convince to Headmistress to allow him to have the entire pitch for a Seekers’ game, but Harry didn’t believe a word of that. Instead, he mercilessly teased Malfoy about blowing his own trumpet and laughed heartily whenever Malfoy glared icy death daggers at him.

Ever since they’d set the timer to two and a half hours, and had taken off on their brooms, they’d made every attempt to outfly each other. And when they weren’t doing that, they bickered bitterly and until their attention was focused on anything but a small, winged golden ball.

Harry hovered high above the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, and let his eyes wander around, attempting to take in the bigger picture. He was somewhat aware of the fact that Malfoy was somewhere either above or behind him, but right this second, he refused to allow that fact to distract him in any shape or form. Squinting, he suddenly spotted something small with a gleaming and glittering surface several feet beneath him. His first reaction was to grip the handle of his broom tightly, and for a moment, he wished he still had his Firebolt.

He and Malfoy had borrowed Nimbus 2000s from the school’s broom shed, but after riding a Firebolt for several years, Harry simply couldn’t get used to the lack of control he had over his current broom. It lacked the finesse and speed he was accustomed to, and grinding his teeth together in mild annoyance, Harry continued to hover in the air.

Below him the Snitch continued to taunt him, attempting to draw him in, and feeling more alive than he’d felt in months, Harry felt his heart pound in his chest as he figured out a strategy. One could never quite predict what a golden Snitch might be up to. It had a mind of its own, and even the practice Snitches weren’t all that keen on getting caught.

Harry was relatively sure that the small, winged ball would make some ridiculous attempt to evade capture. Still, even that knowledge didn’t deter Harry from giving in to the unquenchable desire to chase after that blasted flying sphere.

He took a deep breath, then channelled all of his focus into the daredevil manoeuvre, he was about to pull.

He dipped the tip of his broom forward and adjusting his weight, he forced it to fly at a steep downward angle, pushing for as much speed as he could hope to get out of a well-used Nimbus 2000 practice broom.

Icy wintry chill burned his cheeks, and his eyes began to water.

Harry didn’t care.

He gripped his broom so hard that his knuckles turned white.

Within seconds, he was close enough to grasp the Snitch and prying his right hand off the broom, he reached out.

He was about to close his fingers around the prize when, right out of nowhere, Malfoy appeared underneath him and literally plunked the Snitch out of the air.

He did so with seemingly no effort at all, and cursing under his breath, Harry levelled his broom, forcing it to immediately reduce its speed significantly.

The wood creaked underneath his rough handling, and once again, Harry found himself longing for the smoothness of his Firebolt. It was far less prickly about sudden acceleration and deceleration.

Guiding his broom safely down to the ground, Harry dismounted and waited for Malfoy to do catch up with him.

Instead of following his example, Malfoy hovered about two feet above the ground and smirked at him.

“I knew there’d come a day where I’d beat your sorry arse, Potter. Admit it, I’m the better Seeker.”

Harry expressed his anger with a low guttural sound, and dropping his broom, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You got lucky, Malfoy, that’s all,” he snarled in annoyance.

Malfoy laughed.

He toyed with the golden Snitch, and the longer he did so, the more Harry’s eyes narrowed and the more difficult it became for him to resist the temptation to draw his wand and hex Malfoy.

A stinging hex, definitely.

And one to send him flying on his arse.

And perhaps something to gag him so that he stopped looking so utterly smug.

Malfoy elegantly dismounted his broom and let it drop onto the frozen ground beneath his feet, then pocketed the Snitch.

“Looks like you get the pleasure of buying me dinner, Potter.”

Harry’s wand hand continued to itch terribly, and he growled in response.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a sore loser, Potter.”

“I’m not,” Harry grumbled.

Malfoy chuckled.

“You absolutely are. I’ve waited for this opportunity for eight years, let me have my little victory over you.”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together and frowned deeply.

“Never. There will be a rematch. If you’re convinced that you’re the better Seeker, you’ll have the to prove it. But this time it’ll be a real match. Early in the new year. I swear, Malfoy, I’ll wipe your arse off the pitch.”

Malfoy laughed.

“Cocky, as always. Well, I suppose it’s a Gryffindork trait.”

“You just wait, Malfoy, you just wait.”

Malfoy grinned.

“Actually, I can’t wait. A real match should be a blast. I mean, this was cool, but I miss playing a proper game of Quidditch. I’ve always loved the thrill of the chase.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile, and loosening his arms, he let them drop to his sides and shuffled back and forth.

“That’s exactly how I’ve always felt about Quidditch. Mind, when I first arrived at Hogwarts, I knew absolutely nothing about it, but the moment Oliver Wood first showed me a Snitch, I knew that I wanted to play.”

Malfoy smiled.

He shrugged.

“I suppose, that’s the magic of the game. Come on, let’s head back up to the castle and grab a quick shower and a change of clothes, then we can stroll down into the village.”

Harry nodded.

“Sounds like a plan. Just, there’s one thing I’d like to do first, so if you could please humour me for just a minute?”

Malfoy smirked.

“I’ve been doing that for eight years, Potter. I’m hardly going to stop now.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ha, bloody, ha. Can you be serious for just a moment?”

“If you insist…”

Harry nodded.

“I do.”

Feeling a bit silly for what he was about to do, Harry took a deep breath in a somewhat useless attempt to calm his suddenly frayed nerves and took a step closer to Malfoy, who merely raised a curious eyebrow at him.

Dithering for another few seconds, Harry eventually pulled his Quidditch glove off his right hand and extended it, offering it to Malfoy, who’s eyes widened considerably.

“Uhm, friends, yeah?”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what had pushed him towards making that particular move, but like most of his decisions, it had been a spontaneous one, and he hadn’t actually taken any amount of time to adequately think it through.

Malfoy stared down at his hand, then slowly dragged his eyes up and held his gaze.

There was a strange sort of expression on his face, one Harry couldn’t interpret. Malfoy looked a bit like he’d stumbled backwards and fallen onto his arse, but he also seemed entirely overwhelmed by the sudden offer of a handshake. They’d shook hands before, when he’d sought Malfoy out after his father’s trial in front of the Wizengamot, but this felt inherently different. Harry didn’t think he could adequately explain his feelings on the matter, but he really wanted to shake Malfoy’s hand to cement their newly-budding friendship.

The longer he stood there with his hand stretched out, waiting and hoping for Malfoy to take it, the more Harry felt like a complete fool. He and Malfoy were friends. Enemies didn’t enjoy hanging out with each other. They didn’t spend their weekends together, and they most definitely didn’t go shopping together or have drinks with one another.

Another few seconds past, then Malfoy took off his own Quidditch glove and shook his hand.

Although it hadn’t been the first time, they’d touched each other, Harry felt a strange surge of energy shoot up his arm and instinctively tightened his hold, squeezing Malfoy’s hand a little tighter. Part of him didn’t want to let go, and even though he still couldn’t correctly decode Malfoy’s expression, he fervently hoped that Malfoy felt the same.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to smile if only to ease the awkward tension between them.

Harry cleared his throat and tried to say something, but his next word came out as a hushed whisper.

“Draco.”

Strangely enough, Malfoy reciprocated his smile.

“Harry.”

Somehow, using each other’s given names broke the weird mood between them, and as they slowly let go, they both burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

They each held on to their sides and bellies, and Harry laughed so hard that his eyes began to water and a swell of salty happy tears rolled down his face.

He reached out and boldly wrapped one arm around Malfoy’s shoulder, and when Malfoy didn’t resist, he attempted to comment on their silliness, but instead, Harry only managed to snort.

In response, Malfoy burst into another fit of hysterical giggles and unable to control themselves or regain any small amount of composure, they playfully and repeatedly shoved each other, gathered up their borrowed brooms and headed towards the castle.

Despite persistent attempts, neither one of them managed to start a decent conversation.

A few random and nonsensical words were about all they were able to say to each other.

For some inexplicable reason, they simply couldn’t stop laughing.

The more they tried, the harder they laughed.

Eventually, they resorted to a weird form of sign language to successfully communicate with each other and agreed to meet on the steps in front of the entrance hall in one hour.

* * *

* * *


	10. Snowy Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be reason for me to run...
> 
> Hashtag Slowburn.

* * *

* * *

For the past several days, flurries of snow had been roiling in the air under the command of capricious, roaring winds, and zillions of tiny snowflakes danced in perfect synchronisation, thudding against the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade architectures at precisely the same angles and speeds.

Today, glittering snowflakes covered every inch of every surface, but still, new snow kept on falling. Some flakes downright plummeted to the ground, covering it in a thick layer of white carpet, while others took their time, drifting about in the winds; a horizontal stroke of a sudden flurry here, a tilting streak of bursting velvet there.

Hogwarts castle seemed rather unconcerned with the impressive quantities of snow that continued to wrap it into a thick and whiter than white layer of icy cold. The centuries-old sturdy walls were well used to winter’s frosty charms and took it in their stride.

The Black Lake had completely frozen over, although Hagrid had made sure to dig little round holes to allow some of its inhabitants to emerge from its depths and admire the world above. Apart from the Giant Squid, most creatures remained firmly out of sight.

Professor McGonagall had finally given the all-clear and students were allowed to go ice-skating after classes and on weekends.

In a few weeks, almost everyone would board the Hogwarts Express and return home for Christmas. While the professors continued to pile on the homework, everyone’s spirits continued to rise higher and higher.

Some days, Draco found everyone’s cheeriness thoroughly infectious, and other days, he couldn’t help but rolls his eyes at all the nonsense.

Snowball fights were happening everywhere and this year’s first-years had taken it upon themselves to build snow people in every corner of the castle’s grounds and along the paths that led to the greenhouses and the Quidditch pitch.

A couple of the students that had returned for their voluntary eighth year at the school had charmed several of the snow figures, and they now either cheerily waved at the students that passed them or pulled terrible grimaces.

Draco couldn’t quite make up his mind as to which one of the two charms he found more amusing.

After a lengthy debate with Potter, they’d agreed to base that decision on their current mood and as such Draco’s preference varied wildly. Sometimes, it even changed several times throughout the day.

Preparations for the Yule Ball were firmly in progress, and Hagrid had dragged twelve massive Christmas trees into the Great Hall.

Each Head of House had chosen twelve students responsible for assisting Professor Flitwick with decorating the entire school, which meant that one had to be careful not to linger in one place for too long. During December, mistletoe branches spread like wildfire throughout the castle and if one wasn’t careful enough, one could find themselves in a rather embarrassing situation. Of course, nobody was obligated to actually kiss anyone underneath a mistletoe, but most students took the opportunity to snog a secret crush rather seriously.

As the newly-appointed Head of Slytherin House, Professor Slughorn had attempted to rope him into joining the decorating committee, but Draco had vehemently refused.

While his knowledge of charms was outstanding, he had no desire to partake in any extracurricular activity to stop him from spending as much time as possible with Potter. A small part of him found his inclination to want to spend this much time with Potter quite ridiculous, but another, much more significant portion of him, rather enjoyed the chance to make up for the time they’d lost. However, what brought him the most happiness, apart from laughing with Potter, was that nobody seemed to care that they’d taken to hanging out together.

None of the other eighth year students questioned either one of them.

Occasionally, some of the sixth and seventh years gave them rather odd looks and Draco could have sworn that at least half of the professors were genuinely amused, but that was the extent of the attention he and Potter drew.

It seemed like nearly everyone, staff and students alike, had vowed to leave Potter in peace, and allow him to spend one last year at Hogwarts, just enjoying himself, and making a bunch of unforgettable memories.

The knowledge of that, even if he had no definite proof, made Draco happy.

Over the last week or so, he and Potter started to work together in Potions class. To Draco, that meant spending ninety minutes firmly trying not to bang his head against the table and attempt to vanish himself. When it came to brewing potions, there was seemingly no end to Potter’s stupidity. It was migraine-inducing.

In most of the other classes, they shared, Potter had inconspicuously swapped seats with the other students for a chance to sit next to him or talked him into moving to an empty desk at the back of the class.

Apparently, though only when he really wanted to, Potter was excellent at persuading people to let him have his way. That or most people were only too happy to do the Saviour of the Wizarding World a favour. Draco was firmly convinced of the former and didn’t at all believe the latter to be true. Of course, to an extent, it was true. Potter always got a certain amount of special treatment, but he was still impressively influential whenever he really put his mind to it.

At times, Draco couldn’t help but wonder whether Potter had been sorted into the wrong house. He had some very distinctive Slytherin traits, but whenever Draco brought it up in a conversation, Potter immediately shut him down.

Naturally, that meant accusing Potter of being a closeted Slytherin had become Draco new favourite pastime.

Most days, they met up after dinner, and either went for a stroll around the grounds or hid away in a secluded corner of the library to work on their own essays. It hadn’t taken Draco long to discover that Potter’s fact-finding skills were utterly abysmal and only marginally better than his potions brewing skills.

While he genuinely had the best of intentions, Potter also had quite the talent for leafing through a book, stumbling over something that captured his interest and forgetting everything about what he was actually supposed to be doing.

A few times, Draco had resolved to use a large scroll of parchment and whacked it over Potter’s head in an attempt to get him to focus, but he’d given up on that pretty quickly. For the last two days, he’d turned to magic to help Potter to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing, and occasionally, Draco found himself silently pitying Granger for having put up with Potter’s lack of attention for so many years.

Somehow, with Potter, mild stinging hexes were the way to go, and Draco was seriously considering sending Granger an anonymous owl to tip of her off.

Nearly slipping on a stretch of icy snow, Draco snapped out of his musings and focused on the road ahead of him. The freshly fallen cold snow swooshed beneath his feet while the older, crispy snow cracked and creaked, reminding Draco of thin glass shards exploding into a million tiny pieces beneath his heavy winter boots.

He and Potter were heading along Hogsmeade’s main street, and the closer they came to the newly-opened branch of Quality Quidditch Supplies, the slower Harry walked. It was the same each time they walked through Hogsmeade, and quietly smirking to himself, Draco consciously forced himself to slow down to match Potter’s walking speed.

By the time they’d reached the two large shopping windows, Potter had come to a halt. He silently turned towards the display, and for a while, Draco watched him. Each time they stopped, Potter’s eyes almost immediately settled on the Firebolt that was on display, and he’d stare at it for the longest time.

Draco stepped a little closer to Potter and nudged him gently.

“Want to go inside?” he asked.

Potter mutely shook his head.

“Nah.”

“Hm, OK.”

A strange spell of oddly comfortable silence settled around them, and while Potter wordlessly pinned over the broom, Draco applied to the same amount of enthusiasm to watching Potter. He didn’t quite know what was prompting him to do so and wasn’t in the mood to consider the reason behind his action, but he rather enjoyed watching Potter.

After a while, however, he couldn’t help but give in to his curiosity.

“What happened to your Firebolt?” he asked.

Potter turned his head and met his gaze.

“Lost it,” he said quite simply.

Draco nodded.

“Ah.”

Potter turned back to stare at the broom, and unsure of what to say, Draco let him.

A couple of minutes later, he shook his head, and reaching out, he tightly closed his fingers around Potter’s wrist and squeezing it firmly, he dragged him straight into the small shop. Inside it smelled of leather, broom polish, and fresh twigs. It was also warm and cosy.

“This is ridiculous, Potter, you obviously like this broom. For Salazar’s sake, treat yourself to a new one, it’s not like you don’t have the money.”

Potter looked at him with the strangest expression.

“Malfoy, have you gone bloody mental? Do you honestly think I’d walk around Hogsmeade with two-thousand-three-hundred-forty-eight galleons on me?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Harry, Harry, Harry, sometimes your ignorance about all things magic is utterly endearing, other times it makes me want to smack you. This is one of the moments when I want to do the latter.”

Frowning in response, Potter wrenched his wrist free and glared at him, then headed for the door, but before he could reach for the handle, his eyes settled on the Firebolt. There was an unfeigned sort of longing in his eyes. It was the kind that filled Draco’s chest with an uncomfortable sort of heaviness and he moved to stand next to Potter.

“Harry, you do realise that you don’t need to pay in cash, right?”

Potter’s frown deepened.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Draco smiled.

“It’s a large purchase. You can sign a form to permit the shop’s owner to deduct the number of galleons directly from your Gringotts vault and have it transferred into his own. You’re an adult now, you’ve got full control over your gold, and can do more than just withdraw. If you really want a new broom, I’ll help you fill out the necessary forms. It’ll take a week at the most for the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies to get into touch with the bank and sort out the transaction. Upon completion, you can tell them to either owl your new broom, or you pick it up in person.”

For about half a minute, Potter looked like he was seriously considering his offer, but then he shook his head.

“Nah, there’s no point.”

This time it was Draco’s turn to frown.

“Why not? Don’t you want a new broom?”

Potter sighed.

“I do. But―”

Draco raised a curious eyebrow at him.

“But what?” he asked.

“Gringotts hates me,” Potter mumbled.

Draco laughed.

“Banks never like it when you make a withdrawal, Harry, they prefer to keep your money. What with Gringotts being owned and run by Goblins, that’s even truer.”

Potter shook his head.

“That’s not it,” he said.

Draco didn’t know what to make of this subdued version of Potter. He wasn’t used to seeing him like this, and unsure of how to handle this side of Potter, he hesitated for several minutes, then convinced himself to reach out and place his hand on Potter’s shoulder. He squeezed gently and smiled, hoping to somehow encourage Potter and draw him out of his weird sadness.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

Draco purposefully made sure to keep his voice low and soft and just for good measure, he added a smile.

Harry huffed out a hollow-sounding laugh.

“Remember when Mione, Ron and I escaped from Malfoy Manor?”

Draco nodded.

“Yes.”

“Afterwards, we kinda broke into Gringotts to destroy something your crazed aunt kept in her vault. Along the way, we also stole and freed the dragon, the goblins kept chained up to guard several high-security vaults.”

For a moment, Draco frowned and racked his brain for the memory of said incident but came up blank.

“I don’t think the Prophet ever wrote about that.”

Now it was Potter’s turn to chuckle a bit, and he shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t think Gringotts wanted that sort of embarrassment, so they hushed it up.”

“Well, now you have to tell me everything.”

Potter smiled.

“Nothing much to tell. We broke in, got what we wanted and left with the dragon. He’s now found a new home in Romania with Charlie Weasley. Last I heard, Charlie found him a mate and they’re courting quite happily.”

Draco grinned.

“Who knew, even dragons like a spot of romance.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

Draco gave him a lopsided sort of grin, winked, and poked the tip of his tongue out at him.

“What I don’t really understand though is why that break-in is stopping you from buying yourself a new broom,” he said.

Potter sighed.

“You’re going to laugh.”

Draco smirked.

“Probably. Tell me, anyway.”

“You’re not going to stop pestering me unless I do, are you?”

“How very intuitive of you, Potter, now spill.”

“I’ve not been back to Gringotts since I broke in there. I’m kind of terrified. Also, I’m sure they’ll deny that transaction just to spite me.”

Draco tried his hardest not to laugh but managed to keep a straight face for less than thirty seconds before he dissolved into a fit of laughter, snorting and wheezing as he did so.

“Merlin knows, you absolutely are an adorable fool, Harry Potter.”

Glaring, Potter thumped him in the chest.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Draco coughed and despite the dull ache, he only barely managed to stop himself making a sassy comeback. He bit the tip of his tongue so hard that he actually winced, and forced himself to swallow that particular comment right back down. Instead, he made a different offer altogether.

“You know what, I’ll buy you a new Firebolt for Christmas. How’s that?”

Potter’s eyes widened instantly, then he vehemently shook his head.

“Don’t you bloody dare, Malfoy. That thing costs a fortune.”

Draco shrugged.

“I don’t care. I’ve got more money in my vault than I can spend in six lifetimes. I can afford to buy a friend an expensive gift.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed into tiny gleaming green slits.

He looked absolutely poisonous and thoroughly entertained, Draco laughed. He reached for the handle and pulled the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies’ Hogsmeade branch open and stepped outside. Halfway out the door, he turned his head and looked back over his shoulder.

“You don’t scare me, Potter.”

Potter growled and followed him out of the shop.

“You will not be buying me a fucking racing broom for Christmas, Malfoy.”

“I absolutely will. The more you argue against it, the more you’ll push me into actually doing it.”

“Don’t you dare, Draco Malfoy, don’t you fucking dare pull a stunt like that.”

Draco laughed and turning around, he continued to walk backwards.

“You’re oddly entertaining when you’re pissed off, Potter, do you know that?”

Instead of answering his question, Potter threw a big snowball squarely at his face, and Draco found himself with a mouthful of freezing cold snow.

He brought his hand up to his face and wiping the remnants of the quickly-melting snow away, he spluttered and spit out a mixture of snow and saliva.

“You didn’t just do that, Potter!” he growled.

Potter grinned.

“I so did!”

“That’s it, you’re done for! Run for your life, Potter, because I’m coming for you.”

At first, Potter remained motionless, but when Draco advanced on him, he let out a high-pitched piercing scream, spun around, and dashed down the main road. Draco followed hot on his heels and chased him out of the village and towards the field in which the Shrieking Shack stood. They both stumbled in the snow and very nearly lost their footing several times, but that didn’t stop Draco from giving up.

Instead, he drew his wand and fired a tripping hex at Potter’s feet, causing him to take a tumble. Potter tried his best to get back to his feet, but he slipped and Draco managed to catch up with him. He sheathed his wand and without the slightest word of warning, he sat down astride Potter’s hips, expertly pinned him down and reaching for a handful of fresh snow, he smacked it right into Potter’s face.

Potter sputtered, coughed, and insulted him with a string of rather rude curses, but Draco merely laughed. They tussled about in the snow until they were both breathless, and the ridiculousness of their situation had them lying in the snow while their bodies convulsed with laughter.

At some point, they both ended up on their backs next to each other, and letting his head fall to the side, Draco held Potter’s gaze.

They both stopped laughing and simply stared at each other.

Draco felt his lips curl into a soft smile and moving his gloveless hand ever so slightly, he accidentally brushed his fingertips against the back of Potter’s hand. A jolt of energy shot through him, and he huffed out a breath of fogged up air.

Potter didn’t say a word.

He just smiled.

Draco swallowed hard and just as he was about to pull his hand away, he felt Potter’s little finger curl around his own.

Another shudder surged through him and caught up in the moment, he forced himself to break eye contact with Potter and stared at the slowly-darkening sky instead. His coat and his clothes were slowly getting soaking wet but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it. There was something magical about this moment, and although he had no idea what this meant to Potter, he couldn’t stop his own heart from pounding madly in his chest. The butterflies in the pit of his stomach fluttered wildly and he breathed out a soft sigh.

He didn’t know whether lying in the snow in bloody December with each other’s little fingers curled together qualified as holding hands, but right this second, he simply didn’t care. He also didn’t know how long they’d already been lying next to each other in the snow, but he didn’t care about that either.

After another while, however, he could no longer resist the urge to speak up.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Let me buy you a new Firebolt.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Come on, I know this is something you really want.”

“Draco, you can beg me until you’re blue in the face, the answer is no.”

“But I don’t know what else to get you for Christmas.”

“You don’t need to get me anything, you idiot.”

Draco ground his teeth together.

“I want to get you a present.”

“Then get me one, just don’t get me that broom.”

“What would you like then?”

“Nothing.”

“Potter, you’re driving me up the wall.”

“There are no walls around, Malfoy, we’re lying in a field.”

For a moment, Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or to hex Potter.

Instead, he sat up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You are utterly infuriating; do you know that?”

Potter pushed himself into a sitting position.

“You aren’t the first person to tell me that,” Potter said with a lopsided grin.

Draco sighed.

“Doubt I’ll be the last,” he said.

Slowly getting to his feet, he brushed the wet snow off his clothes, then offered Potter his hand and pulled him up. Once they were both standing, Potter drew his wand and cast a wordless drying spell at him. Unlike the ones he’d previously experienced, Potter’s drying spell was soft and gentle, curling itself around him like a comfortable cocoon of warmth.

Draco couldn’t help but sigh and smile softly.

“Thank you.”

Potter shrugged.

“You’re welcome.”

Draco drew his own wand and repaid the favour, then looked around rather awkwardly.

“What you do want to do now?”

Potter shrugged once more.

“No clue.”

“Hogsmeade, or shall we head back up to the castle?”

“And do what?”

 _Try holding hands again_ , Draco thought to himself but didn’t say those words out loud.

* * *

* * *


	11. When You Give Me Your Little Finger (I Want The Whole Hand)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot showers are always good for all sort of wicked ideas.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Distractedly staring at Malfoy’s pale hand, Harry followed his long fingers as they effortlessly moved along the page, helping Malfoy skim a long paragraph in one of the thick tomes, he’d dragged off a nearby shelf. Every now and then, Malfoy would pause, tap his fingers against the edge of the book and reach for his quill and parchment to scribble down a note.

Harry was meant to work on his own essay, but he simply couldn’t concentrate. He’d tried, more than once, but his thoughts stubbornly kept drifting back to last weekend and his and Malfoy’s snow fight.

Although, if he was honest, it wasn’t so much the snow fight that occupied his thoughts, but rather the moment they’d shared after.

The way Malfoy had looked at him, try as he might, Harry simply could not forget those crystal-clear silvery-grey eyes. They’d seemed so alive, so full of fire and mischief. In that very moment, there’d been nothing fake about Malfoy.

While it was true that Malfoy usually concealed his real emotions behind a mask of nonchalant indifference, it hadn’t been the case then.

Harry didn’t fancy himself very knowledgeable when it came to matters of the heart or correctly interpreting a person’s thoughts but prided himself on the fact that he’d always been able to tell right from wrong.

Well, for the most part anyway. There’d been a few exceptions, but he preferred not to focus on them. After all, nobody was entirely infallible, lest of all he.

In those few seconds, where Malfoy had looked him straight in the eye and had smiled at him, he’d been at his most honest. Just thinking about it caused Harry’s heart to thump madly in his chest while an army of butterflies made it their mission to unsettle his stomach with their unquenchable excitement about absolutely nothing at all.

Barely able to resist the urge to reach out and take Malfoy’s hand, Harry picked up his Muggle pen and chewing on the cap, he glanced down at his unfinished essay for Potions’ class. It wasn’t due until Friday, but Harry had absolutely no idea how to go about comparing a standard Alihotsy Draught with a Euphoria-Inducing Elixir.

To him, while both potions were inherently different in their brewing process, he was confident in his belief that their effects were pretty much the same. He also had no idea why Professor Slughorn insisted on spending so much time on potions that induced laughter and happiness. It wasn’t like they were of any use when it came to post-war depression and the all-consuming sadness he sometimes felt.

Wary of the dark place his mind was drifting towards, Harry forced himself to snap out of his musings. He swallowed a sigh and allowed his eyes to travel back to Malfoy’s hand. This time, though, he didn’t linger. Instead, he advanced along the length of Malfoy’s arm, stayed on his shoulder for a moment or two, and eventually focused on his face. Malfoy still had his eyes and nose buried in the tome in front of him, and bored out of his mind, Harry boldly decided to interrupt him.

“Draco?”

Hm?”

Malfoy acknowledged him without looking up from his research.

Harry gnawed on his bottom lip and nervously toyed with this Muggle pen.

Just now, an idea had struck him, and instead of taking a moment to properly consider the possible implications of the question, that had jumped into his head, he’d simply ploughed ahead.

Indecisive about whether to actually give in to his curiosity or hastily make up something random, Harry dithered for several seconds.

He was about to chicken out when Malfoy looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Yes, Potter?”

“Er―”

Harry didn’t think that Malfoy wouldn’t find his sudden inquisitiveness annoying but now that he had Malfoy’s full attention, he felt somewhat embarrassed.

So far, nearly all of his and Malfoy’s conversations had been mostly light-hearted. They avoided talking about the war at all costs, and even if something about it did come up in a conversation, they made sure to inject a healthy dose of humour and changed the topic rather quickly.

Distracted by Malfoy’s sudden, and thoroughly devious, smirk, Harry felt his cheeks heat and quickly lowered his gaze.

It was of no use.

Malfoy nudged his arm and chancing a tentative look, Harry grinned.

It wasn’t at all a natural grin.

It was forced.

It felt forced.

Harry was sure that it also looked forced.

Surprisingly, Malfoy didn’t call him out on it, which was highly unusual since Malfoy was extraordinarily astute and sharp-witted.

To Harry’s never-ending surprise, Malfoy asked a question instead.

“Stuck?”

Frowning, Harry considered the meaning of the question, but the lingering haze in his brain, brought on by his own embarrassment, meant he found it quite impossible to work out what Malfoy wanted from him.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Harry decided to respond with a question of his own.

“What?”

Malfoy chuckled.

“Fool. Are you stuck with the essay?”

Harry glanced down at his paper.

He frowned, then looked back up at Malfoy.

“What? No. I mean, yes. Maybe. Perhaps, a little.”

“Do you want help?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’ll have an epiphany eventually.”

Much to his irritation, Malfoy laughed.

“Is that epiphany by any chance called Granger?”

Harry grumbled an entirely incomprehensible insult.

Rattled, he defiantly held Malfoy’s gaze for several moments.

Once again, Malfoy raised his eyebrow at him, posing a silent question ― _What do you want, Potter?_

The amused and somewhat knowing twinkle in his silvery-grey eyes slightly unnerved Harry.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

All of a sudden, and quite out of its own accord, the question poured out of Harry. It felt as though someone had suddenly taken possession of his mouth and formed the words for him. A rush of hot mortification surged through him, and pulling his hands off the table, Harry nervously twisted them together and dropped them into his lap.

He stared at Malfoy with what he hoped was a genuinely horrified expression and fervently wished for the ground beneath his feet to open up and Hogwarts Castle to swallow him alive.

Where the hell was the Room of Requirement when you urgently needed a favour?

Why wasn’t every inch of Hogwarts as sentient as that one room?

To Harry’s continued astonishment, Malfoy laughed.

He chuckled quite happily, and leaning back in his chair, he threw one leg over the other and crossed his arms over his chest. The look in his eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. With his inability to control his own mouth, he had just, and quite effectively so, handed Malfoy a trunk full of ammunition to use against him.

“Interesting question, Potter. Why do you ask?”

Harry squeezed his eyes firmly shut, pressed his lips together, and swallowed a sigh.

“Never mind,” he mumbled.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Potter. If you’re going to ask a question like that, you’re going to have to be prepared to answer a few questions of your own.”

Harry vehemently shook his head, but even though it had been less than a month since he and Malfoy had started hanging out together, he’d already learnt one crucial lesson. Malfoy was like a dog with a bone. He never let go. He was persistent, annoyingly so.

“Just forget it, Malfoy.”

Malfoy smirked, then shook his head.

“Nah. Now tell me why you want to know.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and shrugged.

“Just because.”

Malfoy chuckled.

“Really?”

Harry nodded.

Malfoy held his gaze for several moments, then uncrossed his arms and loosely rested them in his lap.

“I think you already know the answer to that question, Potter.”

Harry frowned.

“No, I don’t.”

Malfoy looked rather smug.

“Yes, you do. Or did you forget all about asking me out on a date?”

Harry sputtered.

He felt his cheeks heat up again and to cover up his flusteredness, he attempted to glare daggers at Malfoy.

“I didn’t ask you out on a date!”

Malfoy smirked.

“Oh, yes, you did. I believe your exact words were these, _you could at least take me on a proper date first before making that kind of demand_. You said this after I told you to take off your jeans.”

Harry's ears burnt with embarrassment and dropping his forehead onto the desk in front of him, he groaned into his parchments.

“Malfoy, I swear.”

Malfoy laughed.

“Yes? What do you swear, Potter?”

Harry turned his head sideways and frowned at Malfoy.

“One day I will kill you,” he said.

Malfoy grinned.

“I’m looking forward to that day, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a date, you idiot. We played Quidditch and then I bought you dinner.”

“And how is that not a date?”

“It just isn’t.”

Malfoy laughed softly.

“Alright, if you say so. Who am I to argue with the great Harry Potter? Not a date then. Just out of curiosity, Potter, what do you consider a date?”

Harry sighed, then attempted to change the topic.

“I asked you whether you had a boyfriend. Why are we talking about dates?”

Malfoy continued to look infuriatingly smug, and for a second, Harry considered punching him. Not because he was actually mad at him, but because he really wanted to wipe that self-satisfied grin off Malfoy’s face. This conversation had gone horribly wrong and Harry desperately wished for a time-turner so that he could turn back time and tell himself to keep his mouth shut.

“To satisfy you’re burning question, Potter, no, I currently don’t have a boyfriend. And we’re talking about dates because you asked me to take you on one but are now denying that it was one.”

“I do not deny it was a date.”

Malfoy arched a curious eyebrow at him.

“Oh? So now it is a date again.”

Harry sighed.

“No, it isn’t. It wasn’t.”

“OK. No date then.”

Harry reached for the Muggle pen, he’d abandoned earlier, and aimlessly spun it between his fingers and for a while, he said absolutely nothing. It was only when he couldn’t contain his own desire to know more any longer that he asked another question.

“If it was a date, what would that make us?” he asked.

Malfoy smiled, however this time around it was neither a smirk nor an amused grin. It was just a genuine and warm smile.

“Friends, Harry, that would make us friends. Nothing more, and nothing less. You need not worry, just because I’m into boys doesn’t mean I want to shag every single handsome bloke I spend time with.”

“Handsome?”

Harry frowned.

To his own ears, his voice sounded strangely squeaky, and as a new flood of embarrassment washed over him, he buried his face in his arms and resigned himself to having successfully reduced himself to a laughing stock.

“Yeah, Potter, handsome. I happen to think you’re a good-looking guy. Is there anything wrong with that? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Keeping his lips firmly pressed together, Harry shook his head.

He breathed deeply, then turned his head to the side again and peeking out from underneath his unruly mop of hair, he looked at Malfoy and smiled somewhat awkwardly.

“You’re not so bad-looking yourself, do you know that, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s instantly cheeks pinked a little.

“Er, thanks, I guess.”

* * *

* * *

  



	12. People Change

* * *

* * *

Feeling the sofa dip slightly, Harry looked up from the Wizarding novel, Malfoy had given him the day before yesterday. Beyond his Hogwarts textbooks, the tales of Beetle the Bard, and a few pages of Dumbledore’s biography, he’d never read any Wizarding literature before. Upon sharing that particular information with Malfoy, he’d decided to immediately help him broaden his horizons.

At first, Harry had tried to laugh it off, but it had become quite apparent that Malfoy was rather serious about having him read a Wizarding novel. Even though he’d only read a couple of chapters, Harry was pleasantly surprised by the extraordinary quality of work, Malfoy had recommended.

Not sure whether he really wanted to be interrupted, Harry hoped that Ron wasn’t about to stage an intervention of some kind. He silently watched as his best friend got comfortable on the empty spot beside him. Drawing his socked feet up onto the cushions, Ron sat cross-legged and popped a Wizarding sweet into his mouth.

“That’s got to be the first time I’ve seen you reading something that’s not a textbook.”

Harry chuckled softly and shrugged.

“Nobody’s trying to kill me this year; I thought I’d take advantage of the extra free time.”

Ron threw his head back, laughing.

“Dark. I like it. Uhm, listen, mum owled. She’s really excited about having you at the Burrow for the holidays.”

Placing a silver bookmark, in the shape of a snake, between the pages of his book, Harry closed it and somewhat nervously fiddled with the worn leather spine.

“Er― About that…”

Ron gave him a questioning look and unable to look at his friend, Harry turned his head and focused his attention on the fireplace instead.

The crisp “snip-snap-whoosh” of the flames fascinated him. He watched the dancing fire and listened to it crackle, sputter, and snap as the dying branches and twigs gasped for their last breaths before tumbling into the ashes.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Ron nudged his arm.

Harry let out a small sigh.

He let himself fall back into the cushions, glanced up at the high ceiling of the Gryffindor common room, then let his head fall sideways so that he could look at Ron.

“Look, mate, don’t get this the wrong way, but I really need a quiet Christmas. I want to spend the holidays here at Hogwarts.”

Ron frowned at him.

“Are you sure? Everyone’s going home, you’ll be alone. Hardly seems like the best way to spend Christmas.”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t care, the quiet will be nice. I’m feeling a bit drained. I’ll walk you and Mione down to the station, but I’m not ready for all the crazy merriment at the Burrow.”

“There won’t be any crazy merriment this year, Harry. I don’t think anyone’s in the mood. It’ll just be a nice family dinner, a couple of drinks, a few games, a bit of chatter.”

Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement.

“I just need a bit of time on my own.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and held his gaze for a few moments.

“You’ve been on your own for most of this semester,” he said.

Harry frowned.

“I haven’t. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Malfoy.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“That’s a new thing. You were a recluse for most of September and October, let’s not even get into how hermit you were over the summer.”

Harry huffed out a breath of air and getting to his feet, he shuffled closer to the fire where he dropped down onto a thick round velvety cushion. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he leant back against the stone wall beside the fireplace and relished in the warmth radiating from the place.

“I’m surprised you haven’t lost your rag over the fact that I’ve been hanging out with Malfoy. I kinda expected you to.”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron shrugged.

“Why should I? Don’t get me wrong, I do still think he’s a git, but for a change, he doesn’t seem to be up to anything and as long as that’s the case I don’t have a problem with your new pet snake.”

Harry couldn’t quite decide whether to frown or to laugh, and as such, he was quite sure that he was pulling a rather strange face.

Ron, however, seemed entirely unconcerned by his odd grimace.

For a while, Harry said nothing, then he gave in to his curiosity and asked his best friend a question.

“Why are you so sure that Malfoy isn’t up to anything?”

Ron grinned.

“Harry, mate, if Malfoy was up to anything, you’d have told Hermione and me all about it. You did so for seven years, every week of every month of every year. You’ve changed a lot in the last few months, but that particular part of you, well, I just can’t see that changing any time soon, or ever.”

Glaring at his best friend, Harry dropped Malfoy’s book into his lap, and stretching his legs out in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t that bad,” he said with a somewhat defiant expression.

Ron laughed.

“Nah, you were worse. Anyway, did Malfoy tell you that he wrote Mione a letter of apology after his father’s trial?”

Harry raised both eyebrows at the same time and just about managed to stop his jaw from dropping open.

“He did? Why did Mione not tell me?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders.

“Beats me. She’s my girlfriend, and she didn’t tell me either. You know, women are seriously difficult to understand. I found the letter in her bag when she asked me to go grab one of her books. Apparently, Malfoy didn’t just write to her. He wrote to a whole bunch of people and apologised. After a bit of grovelling, Mione actually let me read the letter. It was all very mature. I think he seriously meant every word.”

Harry picked up Malfoy’s book and continued to toy with it again.

Malfoy had, quietly and without any fanfare, written heartfelt apology letters to those he’d wronged. Strangely enough, the knowledge of that made Harry’s heart flutter. He also felt an odd sense of pride. He’d already discovered that Malfoy had changed quite a lot and found his level of maturity a rather refreshing influence.

“You know, he told me nothing. We’ve not spoken about the war. Neither one of us has been in the mood to have that sort of conversation.”

Ron nodded.

“Understandable. I’m not ready to talk about it either. It’ll be a while before I’ll go and confront everything that happened. For now, I’m just happy to ignore it all. Listen, are you absolutely sure that you want to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas?”

Harry inclined his head.

“Yes.”

“Mum will miss you terribly. She’ll probably want to send you a big care package.”

Harry chuckled.

“Wouldn’t be your mum if that wasn’t what she’d do. She does always treat me like I’m part of the family.”

Ron grinned.

“That’s because you are, I think she adopted you the first time she met you. Anyway, you know, it really doesn’t matter that I’m legally an adult now, she still terrifies me.”

Harry laughed.

“She’s a terrifying woman.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Like she’s ever yelled at you. You’re practically her favourite son. In her eyes, you can do no wrong.”

Harry snorted with laughter.

“She does fawn over me quite a bit, doesn’t she?”

Ron nodded.

“Yup, but that’s mum for you. Look, I’m not going to bring it up again, but think it over alright? There’s room for you at the Burrow, and we’d love to have you.”

Harry smiled.

“Thanks, mate.”

Rising from the sofa, Ron waved his politeness off.

“Not a bother,” he said, then walked off.

For a while, Harry stared after him, then he looked down at the book in his hand. He ran his fingers over the leather binding and let out a soft sigh, although he wasn’t entirely sure why.

His mind was swimming with a myriad of thoughts and unable to concentrate on a single one, Harry stood up and made his way up the staircase to his room. Once inside, he put Malfoy’s book down on his nightstand and then grabbed his new coat and slipped it on. He changed into a pair of warmer outdoor shoes and wrapping his scarf around his neck, he fished his gloves out of his coat pockets and slipping them on, he headed out of the castle for a bit of a pre-dinner walk.

* * *

* * *


	13. Predicament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all so lovely, thank you so much for all your sweet comments. I'll get around to answering eventually, but for now, I'd like to try and focus on writing.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly x
> 
> P.S. Yes, I changed my handle. No, this will not be a reoccurring thing.

* * *

* * *

Feeling a bit lost and just a smidgen overwhelmed, Harry slowly moved along one of the narrow aisles of Scrivenshaft’s rather extensive book section. He browsed several of the book titles, but nothing stood out to him, though he attributed that to the fact that he had no idea what he was actually looking for.

He’d picked up a few books, and leafed through them, stopping here and there to skim over the one or other paragraph, but, so far, nothing had caught his interest.

Discouraged by the lack of suitable literature, Harry randomly stopped in front of a crooked bookcase and pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his newly-purchased pair of jeans. Ever since Draco had practically forced him to buy them, he’d grown somewhat attached to said garment and wore it any chance he got. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something about those jeans boosted his confidence and made him feel happier.

Letting his eyes wander along the heavily loaded shelves in front of him, Harry quietly took in the vast assortment of titles but took a cautionary step back. The bookrack appeared to be somewhat unstable and the last Harry wanted was to somehow manage to become the centre of attention. He was quite content to blend in with the regular crowd. Just another customer was precisely who he wanted to be. He didn’t want anyone asking him for an autograph or congratulating him on what a splendid job he’d done defeating Voldemort.

Harry abandoned his musings about remaining anonymous in a crowd of wizards and witches and focused on a rainbow-coloured spine and a title, _Two Boys Kissing_ , that caused his eyes to widened.

The title right next to the strangely colourful book had an equally as titillating title, _Boy Meets Boy_. The third book title Harry found himself drawn to, _The Boy I Love_ , resulted in a strange sort of heat rising up into his cheeks. Embarrassedly coughing into his hand, Harry stole several furtive glances up and down the corridor. Much to his relief, he was on his own.

Apparently, nobody had seen it fit to venture quite this deep into the heart of Scrivenshaft’s fictional section, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d inadvertently wandered into a restricted part of Scrivenshaft’s of some sort. Taking another look around, Harry told himself not to be silly. There was no such thing as a restricted section in a bookshop. People came to Scrivenshaft’s to purchase quills, parchment, stationery and books, and not to be told that there were parts of the shop they weren’t allowed to browse.

Actively silencing his foolish thought process, Harry focused his attention back onto the books on the shelf in front of him, and after hesitating for the longest time, he tentatively reached out and pulled one of the titles off the shelf. Feeling somewhat nervous, he toyed with the hard book cover and found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the moving image on the front. His hands shook a little and no matter how many times he inhaled deeply; it didn’t make a difference.

Convinced that his cheeks had lost none of their earlier thoroughly annoying shade of red, Harry gnawed on his bottom lip and felt his heart flutter in his chest. There was something about the cover image that intrigued him immensely, and a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what such a kiss might feel like.

Was it different from kissing a girl? Did one need a separate skill set to kiss like that and make the other person like it? Or was it just like any other kiss?

Harry sighed softly and opening the book, he leafed to the first chapter and swallowing hard, he began to read.

“Potter! It’s common courtesy to let someone know in advance when you’re planning to play hide and seek with them. Or didn’t you know that?”

Malfoy’s posh drawl, laced with a layer of scathing sarcasm, cut through the thick haze in Harry’s brain, and jumping nearly half a mile into the air, he let the book in his hand snap shut.

“Er, Malfoy,” he stammered, “did, er, you find the― the quill you― you wanted?”

The smirk on Malfoy’s face made Harry want to disapparate on the spot.

For a moment he actually considered it, then remembered that most wizarding shops used anti-apparition wards on their properties to ensure that thieves couldn’t simply take what they wanted and vanish into thin air.

Breathing deeply, Harry forced himself to relax but was utterly unsuccessful.

Something about the curious look in Malfoy’s eyes completely unsettled him and as Malfoy came closer, he shuffled backwards and promptly stumbled over a slightly raised floorboard. Flailing about, Harry tried his best to keep his balance, and after almost toppling to the ground, he managed to grab hold of the bookcase to his right. He steadied himself and glared at Malfoy, who, much to Harry’s horror, chuckled with amusement.

“Alright there, Potter?”

The tone of Malfoy’s voice told Harry that he was being a complete tease and annoyed, he attempted to cross his arms over his chest but dropped the book in the process. Hastily bending down to pick it up, Harry placed it back on the shelf, he’d taken it from, and tried his best not to turn into a tomato.

“I spent a good ten minutes looking for you, you know.”

Harry forced out a mumbled apology and watched with mild amazement as Malfoy’s smirk slowly morphed into a rather affectionate smile, or at least that was how Harry interpreted Malfoy’s smile.

Over the last month, he’d seen it a fair few times, and he couldn’t deny its charm. There was something quite enticing about the way Malfoy smiled, since whenever he did so, both, his stance and his expression, softened quite a bit. He usually looked a lot more approachable and a lot less cold.

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

Unsure how to answer Malfoy’s curious question, Harry shrugged his shoulders and dithered a little while. After a moment of pondering, he decided to change the topic.

“I finished that book you gave me, I thought I might have a look around for something similar.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

Harry frowned.

“What?” he asked.

Malfoy grinned.

He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Mildly annoyed, Harry made another attempt to glare at Malfoy, though there wasn’t much zest behind his dirty look.

“Cut that Slytherin crap.”

Malfoy chuckled softly.

“As you wish,” he said. “Care to tell me then why you’re looking for an Auror novel in the Gay and Lesbian Lit section of Scrivenshaft’s?”

This time, Harry couldn’t stop his face from turning a fiery shade of red, and turning away, he stared at the ground and shuffled awkwardly. He racked his brains for a suitable explanation but drew a blank time and time again.

It wasn’t until Malfoy nudged him gently, that he slowly lifted his head, and blinking, he stared straight at Malfoy.

All at once, Malfoy’s silvery-grey eyes were oddly attractive, and there was something about his person that was strangely inviting and beyond fascinating.

Harry didn’t quite know what to make of those feelings, and unable to interpret them correctly, he huffed out a breath of air, and lowering his head, he found himself staring at Malfoy’s hand. Feeling a strange sort of tingle in his own hand, Harry remembered that afternoon in the snow, where after bickering and playfighting, he’d ended up holding hands, well, holding little fingers, with Malfoy― _Draco_. They’d never actually spoken about it, and Harry didn’t have the first clue of how to bring this up in a conversation.

“Potter?”

Malfoy’s― Draco’s voice was oddly soft and hushed; it was almost a whisper.

Harry felt tempted to look up but resisted the urge, not because he didn’t want to look at Malfoy― Draco, but because he was slightly worried about turning an unattractive shade of red again.

“That book you were just perusing there, it’s a terrific story, you know.”

Turning his head, Harry found himself looking at Malfoy― Draco.

“It is?” he asked.

Malfoy― Draco nodded.

“I read it a few times. Personal interest or not, it’s a heart-wrenchingly beautiful tale. Well worth a read, I can only recommend it.”

Harry briefly glanced at the book on the shelf in front of him.

“Do you have a copy?” he asked quietly.

“Afraid not, but you can get this one.”

“Er, no.”

Harry fully expected Malfoy to make fun of his reluctance to purchase a gay love story, but he didn’t.

Instead, Malfoy reached out and pulled the book off the shelf.

“It really is an excellent story. I think I do need to get another copy,” he said.

Before Harry could protest, Malfoy turned on his heels and walked off. For a few seconds, Harry, feeling utterly confused, stared after Malfoy’s retreating form, then shook his head. Grinning madly, Harry slowly followed Malfoy and caught up with him at the counter. He watched silently as Malfoy handed over a couple of coins and waited for the shop assistant, a young witch with long black hair, to wrap the book into some brown paper.

After Malfoy had made his purchase, they both left Scrivenshaft’s and headed down Hogsmeade’s main road. About halfway into the general direction of Honeydukes, Malfoy slowed down and offered the book to him.

“Here, read it. It’s a seriously good story. You might need a box of tissues, though.”

Frowning mildly, Harry hesitated for a moment, then took the book, however instead of letting go, Malfoy held on to it for a few more seconds, and turning his head, he smiled.

“Let me know what you think, or don’t. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Harry.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat and smiling softly, he inclined his head.

“Let’s go to Honeydukes,” he said, “I want to get you a couple of your favourite sugar quills.”

Malfoy grinned.

“I can get these myself.”

Harry shrugged.

“I know. Let me treat you.”

“Why?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Because I want to? And because you like them?”

Malfoy chuckled.

“If it makes you happy, Potter, who am I to argue.”

* * *

* * *


	14. Ice-Skating For Beginners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite a busy day and persistent exhaustion, I found a bit of time for this.
> 
> Please enjoy this humble offering.
> 
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the wobbly and thoroughly awkward way Potter walked.

It was as though wearing ice skates instead of proper shoes made it nearly impossible for him to keep his balance, and he shuffled forward with less grace than a penguin. Of course, Draco didn’t voice that particular thought out loud. He wanted to, quite badly so, but he didn’t.

Even though Draco really didn’t want to laugh at Potter, he didn’t think he was able to suppress his urge to burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles for much longer. There was just something about the way Potter acted like he’d been wronged beyond imagination, that made it quite impossible for Draco to successfully manage to contain his amusement.

“You’re evil, Malfoy, you’re pure evil.”

Potter defiantly glared at him from the edge of the lake, where he stood on hard frozen ground, with his arms firmly crossed above his chest, looking entirely put out.

Draco chuckled.

“You give the best compliments.”

It had taken him the better part of the week to convince Potter to accompany him down to the Black Lake to go ice-skating. Despite having talked and joked about it nearly a month ago, when it came down to actually doing it, Potter had vehemently refused to give ice-skating a try. He’d come up with quite an impressive list of excuses, but Draco had seen through each and every single one. So, for every reason against going ice-skating together, Potter had given him, he’d countered with a solid argument to refute. In the end, Potter had, albeit with the most considerable reluctance, agreed to at least try and enjoy himself.

They’d made it down to the lake, exchanged their shoes for skates, and while Draco had immediately stepped out onto the ice, Potter remained by the edge of the lake. His wary expression was genuinely endearing, and effortlessly skating over to him, Draco offered him his gloved hands.

“Here, take my hands, I’ll support you.”

Potter grumbled incomprehensibly under his breath, and instead of immediately accepting his help, he continued to look somewhat mistrustful.

Draco sighed softly.

“In the interest of levelling the playing field and to make you feel better, Potter, I wasn’t a natural. I lost my balance and fell on my arse more times than I care to remember. If you want, I’ll cast a cushioning charm on your behind.”

Potter rolled his eyes at him and scoffed.

“No thanks, I can take this like a man.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter and held his gaze.

For a moment, he considered biting his lip and swallowing the taunt that was on the tip of his tongue, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Really? Is that why you’re still not on the ice? Because you can take this like a man?”

Potter growled.

“Malfoy, one of these days, I will hex you, I promise you that.”

Draco chuckled.

“I’m already looking forward to it. Now, stop being a wuss and get out onto the ice. Here, take my hands.”

Potter gave him a positively withering look.

“No, thanks.”

He declined with a snarl, uncrossed his arms and taking a more or less confident step forward, he stepped out onto the ice and promptly struggled to keep his balance.

Draco reacted immediately, and moving closer to Potter, he stopped him from taking a tumble.

Potter pressed his lips tightly together and gave him a curt nod.

Draco smiled.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

“Pfft.”

“Do you want my help, or are you going to be a complete Gryffindork and do this all on your own?”

Potter dithered for several seconds, then muttered something Draco didn’t quite catch and reached out to take both his hands. He squeezed tightly and even though it felt a little uncomfortable, Draco didn’t say anything. Instead, he adjusted his position, and while Potter awkwardly attempted to skate forwards, Draco effortlessly skated backwards.

The ice beneath them was thick and the surface smooth, and as such Draco wasn’t worried about the blade beneath his skates catching on anything ― magic was a beautiful thing indeed.

Carried away by the chilly winter breeze and the feeling of complete freedom, Draco let his mind drift, and without settling on any thought in particular, he simply enjoyed the moment.

The cold air burned his pale cheeks, and he felt them flush. The corners of his mouth curled into a carefree and happy smile, and perfectly able to keep his balance, Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on his heart thudding madly inside his chest.

After a while, Potter started to complain.

“This is ridiculous.”

Slowly opening his eyes, Draco blinked and focused on Potter.

“Why is this ridiculous?” he asked.

“I can skate without you holding my hands.”

Draco bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from smirking.

“Alright, Golden Boy, show me what you’ve got then.”

Potter snarled and yanked his hands away.

Less than thirty seconds later, he started flailing and another ten seconds after that, he landed flat on his arse and cursing madly under his breath, he thumped the ice beneath him.

Draco pressed his lips together and attempted to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Congratulations, Potter. You can now call yourself an ice-skater,” he said.

Potter frowned deeply.

“Because I fell on my arse?”

Draco nodded.

“Yep. It’s just like riding a broom. You’ve got to fall off at least once for people to take you seriously.”

In response, Potter rolled his eyes and attempted to get up, but unable to correctly balance his weight, he lost his footing and fell right back onto his arse.

Draco shook his head.

“Listen up, Potter, here’s a crash course for you. First, shuffle around to get on one knee. Yep, just like that, beautiful. Anyone could think that you’re about to pop the question.”

Potter growled.

“Thin ice, Malfoy, thin ice,” he said.

To prove a point, Draco stomped his foot.

“Nah, it’s pretty thick. Now focus, or people will really get the wrong idea about us.”

Potter scoffed.

“Like I’d ever do anything as corny as ask you to marry me in the middle of a frozen lake.”

Clutching his hands to his chest, Draco pretended to look hurt.

“Not a romantic bone in you, is there, Potter?”

“This is corny, there are better ways to propose.”

Draco raised a curious eyebrow at Potter.

“Such as?”

Potter smirked.

“Not telling, or you’ll steal all my ideas once you’ve found your Prince Charming.”

Draco snorted with amusement and shook his head.

“I don’t need a Prince Charming, Potter, I’ll quite happily settle for the bloke next door. Someone with integrity, a great sense of humour, and a smile to take my breath away. Bonus if he doesn’t mind spooning around me at night.”

Potter’s smirk softened at once, and for a second, Draco wasn’t sure whether he was blushing or whether his cheeks were flushed from the cold. Either way, he didn’t question it. However, Potter’s next words surprised him a little.

“Snuggling is nice, I suppose,” he said in a hushed sort of whisper.

Draco frowned a bit.

“You suppose?” he asked.

Potter shrugged.

He broke eye contact and made another attempt to get to his feet, but failed.

“Never snuggled with anyone,” he admitted.

This time, Draco was absolutely sure that Potter was blushing, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on helping Harry to get back onto his skates. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible that Potter, the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy, the Saviour, the Boy Who Lived, had never properly snuggled with anyone. Something fierce roared deep inside of Draco’s chest, and his heart contracted painfully. To him, snuggling was exciting and most intimate. Granted, he didn’t have all that much experience himself, but the few times that he’d snuggled up with someone he’d fancied, it had been the best experience ever.

Shaking his head, Draco pulled himself out of his reverie and tried his hardest to concentrate.

“Get back on one knee, Potter, or you’ll never get up on your feet.”

“What? You’re not even going to try and poke fun at me for my lack of experience? Really, Malfoy, I’m disappointed. Even I concede that it’s a brilliant opportunity for a friendly dig.”

Draco chuckled a little.

“How about we snuggle by the fireplace later tonight for some hands-on experience?”

Potter gave him the strangest look but said nothing.

Instead, he shuffled back onto one knee.

Draco smiled.

“Now, put both of your hands above your knee and push your self up. Yes, just like that.”

Surprisingly, Potter managed to stand up entirely without help, but when he made a small attempt at skating without support, he promptly lost his balance again and landed on his behind.

He cursed loudly and unashamedly, and laughing, Draco offered a helping hand, which Potter stubbornly rejected. He got to his feet without help, then managed to skate a few metres and lost his balance again.

This time, Draco caught him and steadied him before he could hit the ground.

“Silly fool, let me teach you.”

Potter obstinately shook his head.

“I can do this.”

Draco shook his head but didn’t say anything.

 _Sure, you can_ , he thought.

Potter resolutely continued to try and skate without help, and as a result, he ended up on his arse more times than Draco cared to count. By the seventh or eighth time though, he started feeling somewhat sorry for Harry and digging through his pockets, he retrieved an unused cotton handkerchief with his initials on it, and drawing his wand, he transfigured it into a soft cushion with the help of a simple spell. From then on, each time Potter hit the ground, Draco flung the pillow underneath Potter’s arse to take the edge off his fall.

To Draco’s complete astonishment, it took more than twenty falls, and narrowly avoiding one of the holes, Hagrid had cut into the frozen lake’s surface, before Potter finally accepted the fact that, perhaps, a bit of assistance wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

For a while, Draco skated backwards, and held on to both of Potter’s hands, supporting him and continuously reminding him to shift his bodyweight ever so slightly forward to help him keep his balance.

It took them nearly half an hour to make back to the edge of the lake, and although a few other students, mostly couples, were out and about enjoying a skate of their own, nobody paid them any heed but left them to take pleasure in a quiet evening together.

The sun had long since settled behind the range of mountains on the other side of the Forbidden Forest, and while the sky was pitch-dark, magical floating lights illuminated the entire area around the lake. With Hogwarts castle as a backdrop, it really looked rather magical, and after helping Potter off the ice, Draco took a moment to look around. He inhaled deeply, smiled contently, then let his eyes settle on Potter, who’d managed to waddle over to a large rock and was currently busy taking his ice-skates off and replacing them with his worn runners.

Draco shook his head.

Potter needed better clothes, more fashionable clothes. Considering that Hogsmeade was a wizarding village, the local shops had a rather impressive selection of garments to choose from, but it didn’t compare to the variety of clothing London could offer.

 _A day of shopping in London, that’s what you need, Harry_ , Draco mused and reluctantly making his way off the lake, he walked over to where Potter was currently tying his shoelaces and sat down next to him.

“How’s your behind?”

Potter turned his head and grimaced.

“Sore. I bet it’ll be all purple tomorrow.”

Draco chuckled.

He reached out and patted Potter’s thigh, lingering for a split-second longer than strictly necessary or appropriate, but Draco didn’t care.

Neither did Potter, though.

He just smiled.

Feeling a bit bold, Draco smirked.

“I’ve got healing salve up in my room, if you dare join me in the dungeons, Potter.”

Potter raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want me to wander into the Slytherin common room with you?”

Draco shrugged.

“If you dare?”

“Then what? Are you gonna offer to rub the cream on my arse too?”

Draco snorted with laughter.

“If that’s what you want, Potter, I’ve no trouble touching your arse.”

Potter rolled his eyes.

“Figures you’d say that.”

Draco laughed.

“So? Are you bold enough to turn Slytherin for a spell or are you Gryffindors all talk and no action?”

Potter laughed.

“I’ll have you know, Malfoy, we Gryffindors are all action and barely any talk.”

Draco grinned.

“Prove it then, Potter.”

“Happily, although I won’t need your help with applying the salve. But thanks for the offer.”

Draco winked.

“Any time, Potter.”

They momentarily fell silent, and while Potter finished tying his shoelaces, Draco took his ice-skates off and slipped into his black fur-lined dragonhide boots. He zipped them up, fixed his trousers and sitting back up, he silently looked out over the lake at the few remaining skating couples.

“What are you thinking about?”

Potter’s question made him turn his head and glancing sideways, Draco shrugged.

“Nothing, just feeling happy.”

Potter nodded.

“Hm, me too,” he said.

He shuffled and inch closer and feeling the length of Potter’s arm pressed up against his own, Draco glanced down at Potter’s hand. It was resting on the exact spot, he’d patted earlier. Moving his hand closer, Draco hesitated for a second, then, out of nowhere, he summoned a heroic amount of courage and let his little finger brush along the length of Potter’s little finger.

Potter inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch or move his hand away.

Instead, he moved and curled his little finger around Draco’s, and pressing his lips tightly together, Draco closed his eyes and relished in the barely-there physical touch between them.

A few minutes of tense silence past, then Draco exhaled softly and turned his head. To his surprise, Potter was already looking at him. A very soft and tentative smile curled around the corners of his mouth, and Draco reciprocated.

“Come on, let’s head back up to the castle. It’s getting late and cold.”

Potter inclined his head.

“Hm, yes, let’s.”

As they both stood, Draco realised that they’d yet to let go of each other’s little fingers, and even though he was freezing without his gloves on, he boldly took Harry’s hand properly and squeezed it a little.

Potter looked at him, but apart from the strange twinkle in his emerald green eyes, he said nothing. Taking that as a positive sign, Draco decided to remain silent too.

Holding hands, and with their ice-skates dangling from their free hands, they slowly, and without the slightest hurry, made their way back up to the castle.

* * *

* * *


	15. History of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2019-12-24  
> A fitting date for an update that is slowly heading into the direction I want to take this piece of 8th-Year Christmas/New Year's fluff.
> 
> *leaves to write another chapter*
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Draco took the note, Potter had passed over to him across their desk and with his eyes focused on Professor Binns, he casually unfolded it. There was literally no chance that the ghost of Cuthbert Binns would notice him not paying any attention in class, most students hardly ever did, but Draco still didn’t want to draw any attention onto himself.

Glancing down at the note, Draco frowned, then rolled his eyes.

> _Can you ask you something? HP_

Draco reached for his quill, elegantly dipped it into the inkpot in front of him, and responded to Potter nearly illegible scribble. It still amazed him how anyone could write this messily and get away with it too. There were moments when Draco’s hand itched and he really wanted to teach Potter that beautiful handwriting wasn’t a chore but a way of presenting oneself respectfully and adequately.

> _We just had breakfast and walked to class together, and now it occurs to you that you want to ask me something, Potter? You astound me. DM_

Putting his quill down, Draco folded the note together and slid it across the desk towards Potter’s half of the table. As Potter took the letter from him, their fingers briefly touched, and feeling a jolt of electricity zap up the entire length of his arm, Draco felt immensely tempted to simply curl his fingers around Potter’s hand and refuse to let go.

He still wasn’t quite over the fact that he and Harry had actually held hands after Potter’s disastrous attempt at ice-skating. They’d held on to each other’s hands until they’d reached the main entrance of the castle, and even then, they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to pull away.

After a long moment of merely staring at each other, Harry had wordlessly pulled him off to the side and they’d spent a solid hour just strolling around the castle grounds. Throughout, they hadn’t exchanged a single word with each other and now, two days later, they still hadn’t talked about what holding hands for such an extended period meant to each other.

Well, Draco knew precisely what it meant to him, but he didn’t know what Harry thought and felt. He had a vague idea, but for some reason, he was somewhat hesitant to make his own conclusions. There was always the chance that he was wrong, that he’d somehow gotten an utterly crazy idea stuck in his head, and that he and Potter didn’t at all have the same opinion about whatever this was their blossoming friendship was turning into.

Potter’s less-than-gentle nudge startled Draco out of his musings and accepting the folded piece of parchment, Harry held out to him, he unfolded it and let his eyes drift down to Potter’s latest response.

> _I do enjoy stopping people in their tracks and leaving them open-mouthed._ _😊_ _Are you going to the Yule Ball? HP_

Draco stared at the note longer than strictly necessary. He had to press his lips tightly together to stop himself from bursting out laughing, but couldn’t entirely stop the strange snort that escaped through his nostrils. Feeling his cheeks heat a little, he glanced around the classroom, but nobody had noticed his reaction to Potter’s scrawl.

> _Been reading that Thesaurus again, have you, Potter? My, Granger must be mighty proud of you. I haven’t decided yet. Why? DM_

Draco finished the note and passed it back to Potter.

For the first time during their exchange, he glanced sideways, and when their eyes met, he couldn’t help but smile. Potter held his gaze for several seconds, and Draco watched with the utmost delight as Harry’s cheeks pinked ever so slightly before he reciprocated with a shy smile of his own, then hastily averted his eyes to focus on the note.

Unable to look away, Draco watched him read it and smirked to himself. There was a side to Potter that could only be described as ‘ _adorable_ ’ ― a word Draco generally wasn’t a fan of at all, but he couldn’t come up with a better term to describe the way Potter looked, and he was all coy and at a loss for words. It was a stark contrast to the person, Potter―Harry was.

He was outspoken, righteous, straightforward, and thoroughly sassy. He possessed a strange kind of humour, one that was both endearing and utterly infuriating, sometimes even at the same time.

But what Draco liked the most was that Harry stood up for what he believed in and for what he thought was right. He had always done so and nothing and nobody could stop him or convince him to change.

Sometimes, when he was still half lost in his own head, he came out with the most ridiculous of things. But instead of dismissing them as banal and telling Harry that he was crazy, Draco rather liked those moments and had come to cherish them for what they were; an unfiltered glimpse into Harry’s mind.

As Potter hastily wrote his response, Draco momentarily turned his focus to what Professor Binns was talking about. It was genuinely sleep-inducing and Draco barely resisted the urge to yawn. Even the driest of Magical History books were more entertaining than Binns’ relentless droning voice. Still, he was a vat of knowledge and whenever one did manage to listen carefully and successfully do so without falling asleep, one could occasionally learn the one or other interesting fact, things that one might have difficulty finding in Hogwarts extensive library.

A few moments later, Potter passed the note back to him and unfolding the paper, Draco read it.

> _No reason, just curious. I’ve had plenty of people asking, but I’ve turned them all down. Call me paranoid, but I feel like they all want to go to the ball with me because of who what I did and not because of me. Ron and Hermione said I don’t need a date if I don’t want one and that I’m welcome to tag along with them but I’d feel like the fifth wheel on the wagon if you know what I mean. I’m probably just going to hide away in my room or sneak in late or something. HP_

Draco dithered over the note for the longest time, and by the time the bell rang, he still hadn’t come up with a suitable response, so, instead of racking his brains any longer, he simply hung back and watched his fellow classmates slowly rise from their seats, stretch, yawn, and file out of the classroom.

Beside him, Potter stood up, packed his things and slowly placed them inside his bag. They shared a quick look between them and smiling softly, Draco folded the note together and slipped it inside his own shoulder bag, then packed up the rest of his things.

He and Potter left the room together and walked down the corridor in amicable silence. Their next class was Herbology, and for that class, they had to make their way to the greenhouses.

As they walked across the snow-covered courtyard, Draco shivered slightly. Temperatures had dropped drastically over the past few days, and it was bitter cold outside. Despite wearing long underwear underneath his uniform and a warm jumper under his ropes, he felt cold. Still, he didn’t let that discourage him, and gradually slowing down, he came to a halt.

Potter stopped too, and turning his head, Draco glanced at Harry and thankful that his Slytherin scarf concealed his throat, he swallowed hard.

“What?” Potter asked with a mild frown.

Draco shook his head.

“Nothing. I just wondered―”

He trailed off and smiled awkwardly.

The curious look in Potter’s emerald-green eyes was only mildly distracting, or at least Draco tried to tell himself that much.

“You just wondered?”

Draco huffed out a breath of warm air, and silently delighted in the watching the water vapour in his breath condense into lots of tiny droplets of liquid water and ice-solid water. It rose above his head, then dissolved.

The biting cold air was burning his cheeks, and they felt both incredibly hot and cold. He was sure that they were crimson-red but refused to acknowledge that part of the reason for this intense colour was perhaps the fact that he was a little embarrassed about what he wanted to ask. It felt a bit presumptuous to assume that Harry might be okay with such a proposal, but a large part of Draco pushed him towards trying his luck.

 _You only live once_ , he thought.

“Would you like to go to the ball together?”

Draco forced the question through his barely open mouth, then proceeded to hold his breath for several very long seconds. He observed Potter carefully and made every conceivable conscious effort not to shuffle his feet in the thick frozen snow that covered the ground beneath the soles of his black dragonhide winter boots.

When Potter didn’t respond to his question, just looked at him with the strangest expression Draco had ever seen, a wave of nervous energy unsettled him, and he felt the intense urge to clarify his offer.

“It doesn’t have to be a date. Just friends, we’ll go as friends.”

Potter blinked.

He shuffled his feet, and Draco watched him bury his hands deep inside his school robes. His eyes settled on the Gryffindor crest and staring at it as though it was the most exciting thing Draco had ever seen in his entire life, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d overstepped an invisible boundary between them, or whether he’d misinterpreted things after all.

For the longest time, a strange sort of silence clung to the chilly air between them and a gust of harsh wind howled around the stone corners of the courtyard. It wasn’t precisely an awkward silence but it wasn’t their usual comfortable silence either. Draco didn’t know whether to say anything else or whether to change the conversation to the fact that if they didn’t hurry, they’d be late for Herbology.

“You know what, I think I’d like that.”

Potter’s response surprised Draco so much that he instantly yanked his head up and felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck from the whiplash of the sudden movement. He brought his hand up and slipped it underneath his scarf to rub his neck and massage the uncomfortable kink away.

“You’d like that?” he asked, feeling a bit like a fool.

Potter nodded.

“Yes. Let’s go together, OK?”

Feeling a bit dazed, Draco found himself nodded.

“Sure. OK. Yes. If it’s what you want?”

Potter grinned.

“You suggested it, it’s obvious that it’s what you want. I’ve no problem going to the ball with a bloke.”

Draco couldn’t help but frown a little as one of his smaller but persistent insecurities of his made itself known to him.

“Not even if the bloke who asked you to the ball is gay?” he asked.

Potter chuckled softly.

He shook his head.

“Least of all if the bloke who asked me to the ball is gay,” he said.

Then, after a moment of very pleasant silence, one that filled Draco with warmth and joy, Harry continued.

“It's only been a month or so, but you’re a good friend, Draco, I think we’ll enjoy ourselves if we go together.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat a little.

This time, however, he had no qualms admitting to himself that it most definitely wasn’t because he and Potter were stood in the freezing cold in the middle of Hogwarts’ courtyard, halfway to the greenhouses.

* * *

* * *


	16. To Date Or Not To Date, That Is The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to leave this here and scuttle away to do a few other things. One wishes one could write all day, but alas, one also must do other things.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Harry glared at his reflection in the mirror and continued to fight with his silken black bow-tie. For the last half hour, the tricky thing had refused to do his bidding and Harry was several seconds away from losing the plot altogether.

With a longing glance, he settled on his Gryffindor tie and wondered whether he could get away with wearing dress robes and his house tie. That one was so much easier to knot.

A knock on the door to his room stopped him from opening the window and tossing the bow-tie out into the cold. He snarled, undid the uneven knot, and flinging it onto the carpeted ground beneath his socked feet, he thrust his hand out, and wandlessly unlocked and opened the door.

Unsurprised to find Hermione standing outside in the corridor, Harry smiled at her, then bend down to pick up the offending garment that was the one and only bow-tie he possessed. His eyes travelled back to give Hermione another appreciative once-over and he nodded in silent approval.

Hermione had restrained her long curly hair to the back of her head, and it obediently remained there, bound together in an elegant high hairdo. Glittering silver hairclips held her coiffure in place, and she’d made an extraordinary effort with her makeup.

“Ron’s going to die when he sees you.”

Hermione chuckled.

“I hope not. That would defeat the purpose of this black dress entirely.”

Harry laughed.

“Nah, it would just give it a different purpose altogether.”

Hermione’s dress looked genuinely stunning. It was a strapless evening gown that exquisitely accentuated her curves and ended just above her knees. Her silver four-inch stilettos lengthened her legs, giving them a classy never-ending sort of appearance. She’d accessorised her outfit with some beautiful jewellery, Harry had never seen her wear before.

Laughing, Hermione stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“I’m making Ron wait for me by the staircase,” she said.

Harry chuckled.

“Should I go and tell him to wait at the entrance to the Great Hall? I’m a bit concerned that he’s going to faint and fall over the railing.”

Hermione grinned.

“I’ve got my wand on me, Harry. Weasley isn’t going to get away, not tonight anyway.”

Harry frowned a little.

“Do I want to know where you’re hiding your wand? That dress seems like you’ve painted it on yourself rather than slipped into it.”

Hermione looked at him with a positively devilish glint in her eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr Potter,” she said.

Harry laughed, then glanced down at the disobedient bow-tie in his hands, and sighed.

“Actually, what I’d really like to know is who invented these idiotic things,” he said with a frustrated grumble. “I’d very much like to kill them.”

Hermione walked across the room and without as much as a comment to judge his inability to dress properly, she took the bow-tie from him and placed it around his neck.

“Dad taught me how to tie these things when I was a little girl,” she said with a smile.

Watching her nimble fingers in the mirror, Harry stood perfectly still and allowed his best friend to slip the bow-tie underneath the collar of his brand-new crisp white button-up shirt. Then, with expert precision, she knotted the two ends of his bow-tie together and adjusted it ever so slightly until it sat perfectly straight.

“You look fabulous, Harry.”

Feeling his cheeks heat a little, Harry blushed at hearing her praise.

“Thanks, Mione.”

“Are you finally going to tell me who you’re going to the ball with or do I have to wait until you and your date walk through the doors of the Great Hall together?”

Harry coughed a little. His cheeks burned hotter.

“Erm― it’s not a date. Or, actually, I’m not sure, maybe it is. We never clarified.”

Hermione smiled, knowingly. Or at least that’s how Harry decided to interpret her smile.

“Malfoy,” she said.

Harry nodded.

“Did you ask or did he?”

Briefly averting his eyes, Harry glanced at his reflection in the floor-length mirror attached to the outside of his wardrobe and wondered whether Draco would mind that he hadn’t managed to tame his messy hair. He’d tried, but it refused to settle for anything. Not even his grandfather’s famous hair potion did anything to his unruly mop of hair. It stubbornly did whatever it wanted to, and Harry had decided that it wasn’t worth getting frustrated about.

“He asked,” he mumbled.

Hermione gave a small nod.

A strange sort of smile curled around the corners of her mouth; one Harry couldn’t quite interpret.

But once again, it felt like she knew much more than she was letting on. Or much more than she would ever admit to knowing.

“I see.”

For a while neither one of them sat a word, then Hermione surprised him with a fierce hug, and not thinking anything about it, Harry slid his arms around her lithe waist and pulled her against his own body, reciprocating the embrace. She smelled utterly divine, and closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and let his thoughts drift.

He and Draco had agreed to meet outside the Great Hall and enter with everyone else to avoid drawing all that much attention on the fact that they were attending the ball together. It had been Draco’s idea and Harry suspected that he’d suggested it to make him more comfortable. Although, so far, nobody had said anything about the fact that they’d been hanging out together almost every day for the past month or so.

Harry was sure that more than a few students were probably whispering about them behind their backs, but nobody was bold enough to talk to them directly about it or make any sort of snide remarks when either one of them was around.

Not even Hermione and Ron had heard any whispers, or if they had, they were keeping whatever they’d overheard to themselves. Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether he was grateful for the fact that his friends were, once again, trying their best to protect him, or whether he loved them for their continued unconditional support. After a few moments of dithering, Harry finally settled on the latter. His friends had always supported him and he couldn’t fault them for it now or ever.

Hermione pulled him out of his thoughts by breaking away from the hug, but before she stepped back, she placed a soft kiss onto his cheek.

“What do you want it to be, Harry?” she asked.

Her voice was soft and gentle, and Harry felt warm and fuzzy.

His head spun a bit.

“Hm?” he asked, mildly confused.

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Harry blinked, then shrugged.

He didn’t know how to answer that question. He had no idea how he felt about Draco, beyond the fact that he felt inexplicably drawn to him and deliriously happy whenever they got to spend time together. He didn’t even really care what they got up to. Just being next to Draco was enough.

There were a lot of things they’d yet to talk about, but somehow Harry couldn’t persuade himself to rush things. He was comfortable with the lack of pressure Draco put on him to make any sort of decisions. They were simply trying to be teenagers, learning to live without the burden of imminent war and the sure knowledge that people they knew and cared about might die trying to stop a megalomaniac from rising to power and destroying the world as they knew it.

Harry shook his head and forced himself to get out of his own head. At times it was a dangerous place to be, and tonight he didn’t want anything to ruin the mood. He just wanted to have a good time.

“Can it be a date without either one of us explicitly stating that it is one?”

Hermione smiled.

“It can be whatever you want it to be. Just remember one thing, if you do decide that it’s a date, you shouldn’t let him wait for much longer. I don’t think Slytherins take kindly to the idea that they are possibly being stood up.”

Harry frowned.

“I’d never do that.”

Hermione plucked something off his shoulder and adjusted his bow-tie a little.

“Then put your shoes on and get into those robes. I’m pretty sure Malfoy’s already waiting for you. On that note, I think I’ve made Ron suffer enough, I’m off to hopefully turn my boyfriend into an incoherent mess.”

Harry laughed.

“You’ll definitely succeed with that the moment he sees you.”

Hermione grinned.

“I hope so. I’ll see you later, Harry.”

Harry nodded.

“Hm, later.”

As Hermione left his room, he looked around for his shoes, but as he was about to reach for them, his eyes fell onto the book, Draco had bought for him at Scrivenshaft's. He’d read about half of it but hadn’t had a chance to settle down and concentrate on it over the last few days. Instead, he kept it on his nightstand and usually found himself staring at the moving cover photo for ages until drifting off into a peaceful slumber filled with the strangest of dreams.

Walking over to his bed, Harry picked up the book and stared at its cover for several minutes. A soft smile curled around his lips, and for a moment, he wondered, then hastily shook his head and placed the book back down on his nightstand.

“Don’t be silly,” he mumbled to himself.

Instead of wasting any more time on fanciful dreams, he grabbed his shoes, slipped into them and sat down at his writing desk to tie his laces.

Some ten minutes later, he finally slipped into his robes, took one last look at the reflection in his mirror, and adjusting his glasses and making sure that he had his wand, he left his private quarters.

* * *

* * *


	17. The Yule Ball Is First and Foremost A Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to post this and go into hiding.
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

Staggering somewhat, Draco grabbed hold of the backrest of a nearby chair to steady himself and leant against it. He reached out with his other hand, wrapped his fingers around Harry’s bare wrist, and squeezed.

“Potter, I’m drunk.”

He made his statement with as much conviction as he could muster in his inebriated state.

Potter’s lips instantly curled into a lopsided grin, and he lowered the glass of burgundy-red punch he held in his other hand.

“You’re not drunk, Malfoy, you’re bloody well pissed.”

Draco shrugged.

“Or that,” he said.

“Somebody spiked the punch.”

Potter nodded.

“Yup. ‘Twas Finnegan and Thomas, saw them do it,” he said quite proudly.

Draco tried to move a little closer but abandoned the idea when his head spun, and he felt terribly dizzy.

“And it didn’t occur to you to stop them?” he asked.

Potter shook his head.

“Absolutely not.”

His amused grin turned devious, and Draco watched, with mild trepidation, as Potter finished his drink off and then locked eyes with him. Draco decided that the predatory glint in Potter’s eyes was both intensely frightening and more than just a little arousing. He swallowed hard and tried to let go of Potter’s wrist but Potter was a split-second faster than him, and suddenly it was no longer him holding on to Potter’s wrist but Potter holding on to his wrist. Potter’s grasp was firm and steady and Draco couldn’t convince himself to try and fight Potter off.

It was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“You look like you’re about to do something stupid, Potter.”

Potter laughed.

“Oh yeah. I’m just about drunk enough to do it, and I think you’re too.”

“In that case, please don’t.”

Potter laughed some more.

“Not a fucking chance, Malfoy. I’m going to do this.”

Draco sort of sighed.

“Bloody Gryffindork,” he mumbled.

“Aww, you say the sweetest things, Malfoy.”

Following his drunken, somewhat mocking compliment, Potter continued to chuckle happily to himself.

Draco rolled his eyes and tried to look somewhat put out, but his lips betrayed him and encouraged by Potter’s silliness, they curled upwards, and he couldn’t help but smile.

For a moment, Draco wondered whether he was still sober enough to regret the fact that he’d asked Potter to the Yule Ball, however, even in his intoxicated state, he simply couldn’t find any fault in having decided to spend the evening with Potter.

Despite his almost-meltdown over his inability to decide whether to surprise Potter with a little gift, which Blaise had thankfully stopped from spiralling out of control, and the fact that Potter had made him wait a whopping fifteen minutes before finally making an appearance, Draco decided that he’d really enjoyed himself so far.

Dinner had been just perfect, and even though he’d been somewhat unsure about sharing a table with Granger and Weasley, nobody had said anything inappropriate. Well, unless one counted Lovegood, who’d joined them for dessert and declared that they made a rather perfect couple. In response to that, Potter had nearly choked on his Christmas Pudding, and then hastily excused himself to go to the loo.

“You know what, Malfoy?”

Pulled out of his memories, Draco realised that Potter had stepped closer and was now standing right in front of him. There was barely a gap between them, and a flush of hotness caused Draco to inhale deeply and hold his breath for a second or two.

“What?” he asked.

“We’re going to dance.”

Draco’s eyes widened instantly.

“No, Potter, _we_ are not,” he said.

He shook his head vehemently, but Potter merely laughed, and ignoring any and all of his protests, he wordlessly dragged him out onto the dancefloor.

Draco made one last feeble attempt to protest.

“Potter, I’m not dancing with you!”

“Why not?” Potter asked.

Draco sighed.

“I’ve seen the way you dance and no but no thanks.”

Potter grinned.

“You lead then. I’ll be the woman.”

“Potter…”

“Don’t be a bloody spoilsport, Malfoy. I’m drunk, and we’re dancing.”

Draco hesitated for several seconds and considered his options. When a positively devious idea crept into his mind, he changed his mind instantly. This was bound to end terribly, and while Potter wanting to dance was absolutely and without a shred of a doubt the worst idea ever, it was also perfect blackmail material. Not in the sense that Draco wanted to harm Potter, but more in the way that it was the ideal memory to use when one wanted to endlessly tease Potter. Possibly until they were both old and grey.

“Fine, Potter, I’m too bloody drunk to care.”

Deciding to throw any and all caution into the wind, Draco placed his hands around Potter’s neck and forced him a bit closer. He just about managed to suppress a yelp when Potter wound his arms around his waist and they ended up way standing so close that there was only a tiny, rather indecent, gap left between them.

They stood like that for several minutes, neither one of them moving, but both of them just staring at each other like they’d only just met for the first time in their lives.

Eventually, Draco found an ounce of decorum and clearing his throat, he broke the odd spell of unexpected warmth and pleasant inebriation that had settled all around them.

“This isn’t dancing, Potter.”

Potter shook his head.

“No, it isn’t, you’re right.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter.

“You wanted to dance. Did you change your mind?”

Potter shook his head again.

“No, weirdly enough, I still want to dance.”

Draco grinned.

“Alright, then.”

The music had changed to something faster, a rather upbeat tune by the Weird Sisters, Draco hadn’t heard in a while.

Taking a chance, Draco let his hands slide down Potter’s rather strong arms, momentarily marvelled at the tautness of Potter’s skin and the firm muscles underneath, then grasped Harry’s wrists tightly and spun him around, making up the moves as he went. This wasn’t a dance he’d ever learnt, and he didn’t think any sane person would ever want to voluntarily dance like that, but right this moment, Draco couldn’t care less.

Potter laughed out loud and instead of resisting the silly twirl, he spun along and long before the song had reached its peak, they were both goofing around the dancefloor, laughing and spinning each other around, as up-tempo song after up-tempo song filled the beautifully decorated Great Hall.

As usual, the theme was ‘ _ice_ ’, and Christmas combined so ice sculptures accompanied the twelve Christmas trees and in-between the floating candles, snowflakes in all shapes and sizes drifted through the air but never actually landed anywhere.

Post-dinner, the staff table served as a bar for an incredible variety of wizarding sweets with a large glass bowl of Christmassy fruit punch in its centre. It was that very bowl which Harry’s classmates had apparently managed to spike with copious amounts of Muggle alcohol.

Draco couldn’t help but silently thank them.

He’d wondered whether he might be able to entice Harry to a dance or two, but throughout the evening, he hadn’t felt bold enough to ask. Now that they were happily giggling and spinning each other around the dance floor in an attempt to create the maddest dance moves Hogwarts had ever seen, Draco felt free and elated.

Despite the Yule Ball’s wintry theme, it was pleasantly warm inside the Great Hall, and they’d discarded their outer robes a long time ago. Draco wasn’t even sure where they’d left them but something told him that the Hogwarts elves would ensure that all belongings were returned to the rightful owner. Draco appreciated them for this reason alone. They were incredibly smart and had a sixth sense of what belonged to whom. Elves never misplaced anything. If they did, it was entirely on purpose.

Five minutes of mad dancing turned into ten, and after twenty minutes, the music finally slowed down and so did Harry. They both slowly stopped and supporting each other, they stumbled off the dancefloor.

“Fuck, Potter, I don’t think I’ve ever been so dizzy in my entire life.”

Draco grumbled and leaning heavily on Potter, he forced him to stop walking.

“We should have another drink.”

Draco groaned.

“Potter, that is unequivocally the worst idea you’ve had all night.”

Harry turned his head sideways and grinned at him.

“I would’ve thought that was dragging you out onto the dancefloor.”

Draco laughed.

“Yes, admittedly, that wasn’t your finest moment, Potter.”

Potter chuckled.

“I take full responsibility.”

With much difficulty and plenty of stops, they eventually made it to the staff table, and Draco managed to pour them two glasses of punch. He kept his and offered the other to Potter, who took it from him with the sort of smile that made Draco’s heart pound just a little bit faster.

Their fingers brushed together, and a jolt of energy zapped through Draco.

He shuddered a little and brought his glass up to his lips to take a small sip but didn’t break eye contact with Harry, who continued to look at him with a most curious expression.

“What?” he asked.

Potter shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Just―”

He trailed off, and Draco didn’t push him for answers. They stepped off the raised platform on which the staff table stood, and as they walked alongside the wall, out of the way of everyone else, Draco felt Harry’s hand slip into his own. His only reaction, however, was to take another sip of his punch. The potent drink made him fairly heady but he didn’t think that he’d reached the stage where he might feel courage enough to push Potter into one of the alcoves and snog him senseless.

Admittedly, in his own head, he’d managed to convince himself that it was an excellent idea but his heart blatantly thwarted his plans by insisting that it was too much, too soon.

Lost in his own thoughts, Draco, therefore, barely noticed that they’d left the Great Hall and were strolling down the corridor that would lead them to one of the inner courtyards.

Still holding hands, they walked in complete silence, casually sipping on their punch. Every now and then, Potter squeezed his hand as if to ensure it was still there and at some point, by which they’d made it out onto the courtyard, he used his thumb to draw soft and steady circles over the back of Draco’s hand.

Shivering at the cold and silently cursing the lack of clothing, Draco hastily finished his punch and drawing his wand, he cast a powerful warming charm around them both.

“Thanks.”

Potter’s voice was barely louder than a faint whisper, and turning his head, Draco smiled at him.

“You’re welcome.”

They both stepped out onto the snow-covered courtyard and looked up at the pitch-black night sky. It had started snowing again and small flakes were drifting through the air all around them.

“This is perfect,” Draco whispered.

Potter hummed in acknowledgement.

They stood in silence, and after a while, Draco couldn’t resist the temptation to look down at their linked hands. He huffed out a long breath of condensed air and slowly lifted his hand, dragging Potter’s up along with it.

“Harry.”

“Hm?”

Potter turned his head and met his gaze.

His piercing green eyes momentarily rendered Draco speechless and settling for a simple smile, he pulled his hand away and crouched down to first put his empty punch glass down and then to gather up some snow, which he moulded into a ball.

Once he was happy with the size and weight of his snowball, he stood up, brought a bit of distance between himself and Potter, and without as much as a warning, he threw the ball of snow at Harry, hitting him square in the chest.

Potter sputtered, dropped his punch glass in surprise and growled.

“Malfoy, you didn’t!”

Draco laughed.

“As you can see, I did.”

Potter glared.

“Revenge!” he shouted.

Crouching down, he gathered up a decent amount of snow, and while he did so, Draco formed two fresh snowballs. He patiently waited for Potter to throw his own, ducked gracefully out of its way and then tossed the spheres of snow, he’d made. Potter managed to dodge and avoid one, but the other one hit his shoulder, causing him to stumble a little.

For the next half hour or so they both chased each other around the courtyard, throwing snowballs of various sizes at each other. The cold air made it increasingly difficult to breathe but that didn’t entice them to stop. Despite only wearing dress shirts, they were hot and felt sweaty. Draco could feel his hair stick to his scalp and loosening his tie, he watched Potter take his bow tie off entirely. It had become loose during their mad spin on the dancefloor and he clearly couldn’t be bothered to attempt to fasten it again. Instead, he carelessly tossed it onto the ground.

“I’m gonna getcha, Malfoy,” he called out.

Draco laughed.

“Sure you are, Potter,” he yelled back.

He squealed when Potter dashed towards him, and turning on his heel, he ran across the courtyard and ducked underneath one of the archways. They chased each other for a while, then Draco made a mistake and let Potter come too close. Before he knew it, Potter had grabbed his wrist and gripping it tightly, he made it impossible for Draco to move away.

They playfully and breathlessly fought for a while and eventually, Draco found himself pressed up against the stone wall behind him with Potter standing way too close for comfort.

His head spun dizzily, and no matter how many times he blinked; he couldn’t seem to focus properly.

Harry stood close enough for him to feel Harry’s breath on his lips and cheeks, and licking his suddenly dry lips, Draco stubbornly held Potter’s gaze, determined not to give in.

Potter’s smile and the sparkle in his eyes rendered him entirely defenceless, and he let out a soft sigh. He watched Potter’s Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed and convinced that his heart was about to burst out of his chest, for it pounded so hard, Draco willed the butterflies in his stomach to stop fluttering about quite so madly. If they didn’t, he didn’t think his knees would support him for much longer.

“What does it feel like?”

Harry’s question surprised Draco and distracted him enough to momentarily regain control of his senses.

He frowned.

“What does what feel like?” he asked.

Harry’s already flushed cheeks turned crimson, and he briefly broke eye contact and gnawed on his bottom lip.

Draco’s heart thumped even harder. It was precisely that coy expression he was utterly defenceless against. It was a side of Potter he’d never seen before and he had no idea how to handle it. It drove him mad and he craved things he wasn’t sure Potter was ready to give or even wanted to do so.

“To kiss. A boy. What does it feel like?”

Draco’s mind frayed and spun entirely out of control. He felt dizzy, breathless, and wondered whether he was about to faint. It took him a full minute before he managed to calm himself enough to be able to respond to Potter’s question and even though he was unsure whether he was doing the right thing, he let his inebriated mind speak for him.

“Try it, and you’ll know,” he whispered.

* * *

* * *


	18. A Peculiar Christmas Gift

* * *

* * *

Harry trailed a few steps behind Ron and Hermione and burying his hands deep in his new winter coat, he smiled contently to himself.

His two best friends walked with their hands loosely linked together, and there was a distinct spring in their step. Harry couldn’t help but remember all those times Draco had taken his hand, or he’d slipped his hand into Draco’s. It had become something of a thing between them and the day before yesterday, Malfoy had, quite casually so, boldly upped the stacks and taken his hand in the middle of one of Professor Slughorn’s incredibly boring lectures on Potions Theory. Harry hadn’t really paid any attention to anything Slughorn had attempted to teach them, but after Draco had taken his hand, he’d stopped focusing entirely and spent the next thirty minutes staring at their linked hands.

Walking a little slower still, Harry was acutely aware of the crunching snow beneath his winter boots. Memories of the last time he and Draco had held hands consumed his thoughts, and his left hand tingled pleasantly. He flexed it inside his coat pocket and let his mind wander back to the night of the Yule Ball.

* * *

**Flashback Start**

* * *

_Harry’s breath caught in this throat and blinking once, he focused on Draco’s silvery-grey eyes. They’d darkened considerably and sparkled with a whole palette of emotions; Harry couldn’t even begin to identify. At least half of them, he’d never seen before, but they ignited something fierce inside of him, something he couldn’t control._

_Whatever it was, it made his heart thump madly in his chest, and the butterflies in the bit of his stomach whizzed about at the speed of light. He felt dizzy and quite faint, and a part of him tried telling him that he should bring a little more distance between himself and Draco, but he couldn’t bring himself to shift an inch._

_Draco’s words rang in his ears, repeating themselves over and over again._

Try it, and you’ll know, try it, and you’ll know, try it, and you’ll know.

_Swallowing hard and parting his lips ever so slightly, Harry ran the tip of his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips. He broke eye contact and letting his gaze drop down to Draco’s mouth, he stared at his beautiful pink lips and shivered._

_Draco had given him the green light, had given him permission to kiss him, and there was nothing Harry wanted more. He’d been dreaming about this for several days, imagining what it might feel like to press his lips against Draco’s, and capture them in a slow and teasing kiss; one that they both gradually deepened until they were ready to wrap their tongues together and snog each other senseless._

Try it, and you’ll know, try it, and you’ll know, try it, and you’ll know.

_There were only a couple of inches between them, and Draco’s lips were thoroughly inviting._

_Harry swallowed hard, then exhaled slowly, huffing out a long breath of vaporised air._

_He wanted this, wanted it badly, but he couldn’t bring himself to make the first move. Something was holding him back, and he didn’t know what it was. A small part of him wanted to tell Draco to make the first move, wanted to ask him to initiate the kiss, but those words remained firmly stuck inside his throat, suppressed by a large lump that had taken up residence in the most inconvenient of places._

_He continued to dither, fighting a battle with what he wanted and what he thought he was capable of and growing increasingly frustrated, he managed to stammer out a single word._

_“I―”_

_Flicking his gaze up, he looked directly into Draco’s crystal-clear eyes and felt a flush of hotness wash all over him. It travelled down his spine, and he shivered, though not because he was cold but rather because he couldn’t contain his own excitement or his fear of the unknown. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything quite this much, yet he was beyond terrified about taking a leap of faith and giving into his secret desires._

_Draco moved his hand to rest it on his hip._

_He squeezed, applying just the right amount of pressure to help Harry focus._

_“Do you want me―?”_

_Draco’s voice was lower than a faint whisper, but given how close they were, Harry felt as if he’d spoken much louder than he actually had._

_His cheeks burned and sure that they’d turned crimson._

_He shook his head and pulling back a little, he breathed deeply, held his breath for a few seconds, then let out a small sigh._

_“I’m not ready.”_

_He murmured his confession and averting his gaze, he awkwardly shuffled his feet and stared at the ground between their feet._

_“It’s alright, Harry. In your own time.”_

_Harry gnawed on his bottom lip, and after very nearly chewing a hole into it, he found an ounce of courage and looking up, he held Draco’s gaze for several long moments._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Draco smiled softly._

_It was a warm and comforting sort of smile and Harry couldn’t help but relax. He felt awkward and couldn’t really understand why Draco wasn’t throwing a hissy fit and blaming him for being a horrid cocktease._

_“Whatever are you sorry for, Potter?”_

_Harry let out an embarrassed sort of laugh._

_He twisted his fingers together, then pulled them apart again and pushed them into the pockets of his black suit trousers._

_“For bollocking this up?”_

_Draco surprised him with an amused laugh._

_“You didn’t bollock anything up, Harry, I understand how you feel, I’ve been there. It’s alright, in your own time. I’m not asking you to jump into anything you aren’t ready for.”_

_Harry nodded._

_“Thank you, Draco.”_

_Grateful to have found understanding instead of criticism, Harry relaxed a little more and smiled._

_He reached out and took Draco’s hand, carefully laced their fingers together and squeezed lightly, then whispered his next words._

_“You’re quite something, Malfoy.”_

_Draco flushed a little and his cheeks pinked._

_“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said._

_Harry grinned._

_“It was intended as one.”_

_“Good.”_

_They both moved further away from the wall and with their hands linked tightly together, they silently headed for one of the nearby entrances back inside the castle._

_Halfway up the stairs, Draco stopped and turning his head, Harry raised an eyebrow at him, posing a silent question._

_“Can we agree on something?”_

_Harry furrowed his eyebrows in mild confusion._

_“Agree on what?” he asked._

_Draco grinned._

_“This is a date, yeah?”_

_Harry couldn’t help but chuckle._

_He nodded._

_“Yes, Malfoy, it’s a bloody date. A proper one.”_

_“Good, at least I didn’t have a meltdown about my outfit for nothing.”_

_Harry laughed out loud, though not with the intent to make fun of Malfoy but rather because he was genuinely amused. This sounded a lot like what he’d gone through before Hermione had rescued him._

_“You had a meltdown?”_

_Draco nodded._

_He gave him a somewhat shy smile, one Harry found utterly endearing._

_“I did. Blaise had to talk me down.”_

_Harry grinned._

_“And yet you still managed to be early.”_

_Draco’s eyes turned a deep shade of grey, and he glowered darkly._

_“Yes, don’t remind me of that, Potter. I thoroughly detest being made to wait. See to it that it does not happen again, or I’ll have to think of some way or other to retaliate.”_

_Harry snorted with amusement and squeezed Draco’s hand._

_“I sort of had a meltdown of my own,” he admitted._

_Draco raised an eyebrow at him._

_“About what?”_

_Harry shook his head._

_“You’ll laugh.”_

_Draco smirked._

_“Probably. Tell me, anyway.”_

_Harry sighed and remained silent for a while, then decided to confess._

_“I had a rather serious disagreement with my bow-tie. It refused to do my bidding, and I had to solicit Mione’s help.”_

_Draco burst out laughing._

_“Oh Potter, you really ought to spend a bit more time with me. I’ll teach you the necessary skills to become a functioning human being.”_

_Harry rolled his eyes._

_“Gee, thanks, Malfoy.”_

_“You’re welcome, handsome.”_

_Feeling himself blush, Harry hastily averted his gaze and pulled Draco into the castle._

_“Let’s head back to the ball,” he said, quite effectively changing the topic._

_There was something about the casual way in which Draco had complimented him that made him float. His heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered madly, turning everything in his head upside down._

* * *

**Flashback Start**

* * *

Harry shook himself out of his reverie and focusing on the here, and now, he looked around himself. Everyone around him was in high spirits and excited to climb on board the Hogwarts Express to head home to their loved ones. Christmas was two days away and ordinarily that made Harry feel sad and alone but strangely enough, this year things felt different.

Yes, he’d chosen to stay behind and spend a quiet Christmas at the castle, but he had no regrets about his decision not to join the festivities at the Burrow.

Smiling, Harry followed Ron and Hermione through the archway that led onto the small platform at Hogsmeade train station.

They both turned around and looked at him.

“Last chance, mate, come on. Hop on the train with us. We can always figure out a way to get your clothes and stuff sorted.”

Harry shook his head.

“Nah, thanks for the invite though. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Harry nodded.

“Yeah, Ron, I’m sure. Thanks for caring.”

Ron stepped forward and briefly letting go of Hermione’s hand, he patted his shoulder, then squeezed it firmly.

“Promise to do something fun?”

Harry grinned.

“I can absolutely promise you that.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“If it’s filthy, spare me the details, mate.”

“Ronald Weasley!”

Harry could tell that Hermione wasn’t really bothered by the crude implication of her boyfriend’s words, and gave her a lopsided grin.

She chuckled.

“Ron and I got you a little something for Christmas. It’s waiting for you on your bed. Don’t open it early though.”

Harry laughed.

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good. I’ll write.”

“Please do.”

“It’s just a week, Mione. I think Harry won’t take offence if he doesn’t hear from us for a week.”

Ron quite deliberately teased his girlfriend, and taking her hand, he squeezed it lightly, then pulled her close and slipped his arm around her waist.

She turned her head to look at him.

“I’ll write anyway.”

Ron chuckled.

“Yes, I know you will.”

Harry grinned.

“You two should get on; otherwise, there won’t be any private compartments left.”

Ron gave him a secretive wink.

“How very thoughtful of you, mate.”

Hermione nudged him between the ribs, and yelping, Ron obediently followed her onto the train with one last backward glance at Harry, who laughed, pulled his hand out of his pocket and waved at them.

Standing back and out of the way, Harry glanced up and down the platform and watched the majority of the student body clamber on board of the Hogwarts Express, while the staff loaded the luggage into two special carriages.

Within half an hour everything was loaded and the doors to each carriage closed. The engine started huffing and puffing and the conductor signalled the driver with a loud, deafening whistle. The train roared to life, and the wheels began to move. The Hogwarts Express gradually picked up speed and made its way out of the station, leaving only a large white loud of thick foggy smoke behind.

Hesitant to turn around and leave, Harry remained right where he was until the last puff of white smoke had dissipated into thin air. It was then that he noticed a tall, lanky figure slowly walking towards him, and blinking, he identified the familiar-looking character as none other than Draco Malfoy, dressed in an elegant black winter coat, with a hat covering most of his hair.

Frowning, Harry walked towards Malfoy, stopping right in front of him. He glanced around but couldn’t spot anyone else. Now that the train had left, he and Malfoy were the only two people left on the platform.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Malfoy grinned.

“Obviously, the same thing you’re doing. Dropping my friend to the train station and then hanging around instead of heading back up to the castle.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Smartarse.”

Malfoy mock-bowed and chuckled softly.

“Can I have a proper answer?” Harry insisted.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

“That was a proper answer. I dropped Blaise to the train. He’s going home for Christmas. I’m not.”

Harry blinked.

“Why not?”

Malfoy shrugged.

“Last minute change of plans. I’d originally planned to spend the holidays with Mother, but she decided to spend a few days in the South of France and asked whether I’d be OK with staying at Hogwarts. As you can see, I am. Also, this is perfect. Since you didn’t let me get you that broom for Christmas, I’ll just be your Christmas present.”

Harry laughed.

“You’re a moron. You can’t be my Christmas present.”

“And why not?”

Harry grinned.

“There isn’t a box big enough to contain you.”

Malfoy held his gaze for several seconds, then shook his head.

“I’ll be sure to attach a green-and-silver bow to myself come Christmas morning.”

Harry chuckled.

“Make it red-and-golden please, yes?”

Malfoy pulled a face.

“Not in a million years, Potter. Those colours don’t flatter me.”

“Pity, I think you’d look rather handsome in them.”

“You’re deluded, Potter, I look handsome in anything but Gryffindor colours.”

Harry dithered for a while, then boldly posed a slightly out-there question with which he actually surprised himself.

“Even naked?”

Malfoy smirked, then gave him a cheeky wink.

“When the mood strikes, and you feel that you want to take that step, why don’t you find out for yourself, Potter?”

Harry swallowed hard.

He didn’t respond, but simply held Draco’s gaze for several long minutes while his mind supplied him with various rather X-rated scenarios during which he might get to sneak a glance at a naked Draco Malfoy.

Harry felt his cheeks heat and burn and hastily looking away, he cleared his throat.

“I, erm―”

Unsure of what to say, he fell silent and glanced around the empty platform.

Draco took a step closer, and offered him his hand, though not in a handshake but rather for him to take and hold on to. Harry didn’t think twice. He pulled his own hand out of his coat pocket and placed it inside Draco’s hand. It was warm and his grip was firm.

“How about a nice long walk before dinner?”

Harry nodded.

“That’d be lovely.”

Draco smiled.

He squeezed his hand, and they walked off the platform together, falling into an easy and comfortable step beside each other.

* * *

* * *


	19. Underneath The Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm still feeling poorly, but after a trip to the hospital to get some medicine, I'm confident that I'm going to recover soon. This is just so typically me, ending the year with a chest infection. Honestly, doesn't surprise me one bit.
> 
> Do enjoy this humble offering and please don't shoot me.
> 
> Love,  
> Selly

* * *

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry woke up to the gentle sounds of a crackling fire. He stretched his limbs luxuriously, yawned, then slowly rolled onto his side and at stared at the fireplace in front of him. The flames snapped and sputtered, and the warmth that radiated from it made it somewhat difficult for Harry to wake up properly.

It took him a few seconds to realise that he’d fallen asleep in the Gryffindor Common Room and glancing at the floor, he spotted the book, Draco had bought for him. On top of the novel were his glasses. Harry groggily reached out for them and pushed them onto his nose. His vision instantly sharpened, and allowing himself another stretch, he smiled. The Hogwarts house elves, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t bothered to wake him but given him a thick and warm blanket instead.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

He rolled onto his back, and for a while, Harry simply stared at the high ceiling and listened to the calming sounds of the open fire beside him.

At some point, he reached for his book, which he’d abandoned late last night and staring at the moving image on the cover, he let his thoughts drift.

After spending the morning with Draco in Hogsmeade, purchasing a few bits and bobs here and there, they’d enjoyed lunch at the Three Broomsticks and afterwards they’d slowly sipped a pint of mulled mead each.

Given the large meal they’d had, the drink had been way too sweet and for the longest time, they’d both been extremely disinclined to move. This had resulted in several rounds of Exploding Snap until Draco had finally talked him into a game of Wizarding Chess, which Harry had, of course, lost pitifully.

Draco, being Draco had thoroughly enjoyed teasing him about his lack of strategic skills. By the end of that discussion, Harry had promised Draco that Ron would play the rematch on his behalf and that Ron would wipe him off the board faster than Draco could mutter the password to the Slytherin Common Room.

Harry chuckled at the memory and pulling himself out of his reminiscence; he returned to the present. He gently let his fingers glide over the book cover, then stroked down its spine and let out a wistful sigh. For a moment, he wished that someone was writing the story of his life, someone that had the power to push him closer to Draco and take that one step, he was so hesitant to take.

He wasn’t even exactly sure why he lacked the confidence to seal the deal.

Everyone’s reaction to his life choices was the least of his concerns. It had always been this way; from the moment he’d been thrust into the limelight up until now. The end of the war hadn’t changed the fact that he didn’t give a hoot about what the rest of the Wizarding World thought of him and his actions.

It also wasn’t like he didn’t know whether Draco would appreciate the gesture or not. He’d made it fairly evident that he was more than okay with their relationship heading into that direction.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and swallowed a small sigh. Why was plucking up the courage to kiss somebody you desperately wanted to kiss so extraordinarily hard? He was immensely grateful for Draco’s patience and the fact that he wasn’t pressuring him but allowed him to come to terms with the fact that what he’d always thought he wanted no longer matched up with what he wanted now and had been wanting for nearly a month.

Harry glanced around the empty Common Room and slowly sitting up, he gathered the warm blanket around himself and snuggled into a small corner of the large and comfortable sofa. He opened the book, and after leafing through the first few pages, he skipped ahead to his favourite chapter and promptly lost himself in the world the author had created. He didn’t emerge until his stomach’s persistent rumbling became nearly impossible to ignore and getting to his feet, he folded the blanket neatly, then headed up to his private room.

Once inside, Harry returned the book to his nightstand and grabbing a few things, including a change of clothing, he headed for a shower. He brushed his teeth, scrubbed every inch of himself and thoroughly washed his hair, then dried himself off, and slipped into his favourite pair of black jeans, the ones Draco had insisted he buy, but paused before pulling the burgundy hoodie over his head.

Harry toyed with it for a few seconds, then grinned, and feeling cheeky, he reached for his wand and tapped it against his hoodie. A mumbled spell and swish of his wand later, the fabric turned Slytherin-green and nodding in approval, Harry pulled the garment over his head and pocketed his wand.

Back in his room, he found a pair of socks and shoes, ran his fingers through his still slightly damp hair, and feeling decidedly more human, he left Gryffindor Tower and headed for the Great Hall to indulge in a rather lavish breakfast. However, a glance at his Muggle wristwatch told Harry that it was almost time for a late brunch. Still, over the Christmas period, food was always available in the Great Hall and those students that chose to stay behind, were free to enjoy their meals whenever they wanted.

When Harry entered the Great Hall, only a few students were dotted around the place and although he casually greeted those, he passed, he didn’t stop and linger. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the large room. The lights on the Christmas trees shone brightly, and the many fireplaces ensured that the place was warm and comfortable. As usual, candles floated high above his head, and outside thick flakes of snow were drifting down. Christmas music was playing in the background, and stopping about halfway down the aisle between two long lines of tables and benches, Harry caught Professor McGonagall’s eye. She inclined her head, and smiling at her, Harry veered off to the left and towards the Slytherin table.

Draco sat near one of the fireplaces, huddled together over a thick tome. His half-eaten breakfast stood on a plate beside him, and he was chewing on a sugar quill. While he didn’t appear to be reading anything at the moment, he most definitely seemed to be lost in thought.

Harry paused, and for a few seconds, he simply watched Draco. From what Harry could see, he was wearing a simple grey jumper, which covered his neck, and hugged his lithe figure perfectly. He’d stopped slicking his hair back, and even though Harry had no doubt that Draco had styled it, it appeared soft and very inviting.

The tips of Harry’s fingers suddenly itched and glancing down at his hands, he flexed them and wondered what it might feel like to run his fingers through Draco’s hair. He lost himself in the fantasy for a moment or two, then shook his head and made a conscious effort to approach Draco.

“Hi,” he said.

Draco looked up and smiled. Although he didn’t want to admit it, Harry had to concede that Draco’s smile was rather beautiful. There was something about the way he curled his lips up and how his silvery-grey eyes sparkled. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies in his stomach momentarily distracted him from the fact that he felt ravenous.

“Harry. Merry Christmas.”

Draco’s voice was soft and low, and Harry wondered whether it was at all possible to melt into a pile of goo at its sound. His knees felt someone shaky, and it took him a few seconds before he managed to convince them to support him just long enough for him to sit down across from Draco.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled.

A plate with a large selection of breakfast foods appeared in front of him, along with a goblet of warm pumpkin juice, but Harry was entirely distracted by Draco’s long fingers, his elegant demeanour, and the warmth of his smile. It was a complete departure from how they’d always looked at each other, and it took Harry a while to consolidate the two personas. He rather liked both of them, but there was something about this softer side of Draco, the one he was sure only a few people had ever seen, that drew him in and captured his attention so thoroughly that his mind was incapable of entertaining any other thoughts but this one.

“I assume you haven’t gone looking for your presents yet?”

Drawn out of his silent musings by Draco’s question, Harry straightened up a little and frowned, then shook his head.

“No,” he said.

He reached for his drink.

Draco smirked.

“Good.”

Harry’s frown deepened.

“Why?” he asked.

Draco shrugged.

“No reason.”

“Do I even want to know?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head.

“Probably not.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

Picking up his fork, he chose a hash brown and bringing it up to his mouth, he took a rather large bite, then chewed carefully. He followed up with a sausage, a bacon rasher, and a slice of crispy and golden toast, which he buttered and covered with a thick layer of beans.

Draco gave him a slightly disapproving look.

“Feral creature you,” he said.

There was no distinct bite to his taunt and Harry grinned.

“Always.”

He made a royal mess of his beans on toast, though not because Draco watching him eat made him self-conscious but rather because there was absolutely no decent way anyone could eat beans on toast and look good doing it. It was impossible. Following his chaotic adventure, Harry ate some scrambled eggs, another sausage, and one more hash brown then pushed his plate to the side and finished his pumpkin juice.

Draco had pushed his tome slightly to the side and had resumed chewing on his sugar quill while his fingers seemingly aimlessly toyed with the stem of his goblet.

Harry watched him for a while, but when his thoughts twisted and flowed into a direction that made his nether regions slightly uncomfortable, he forced himself to focus his attention one something else, though, as he soon discovered, Draco’s lips and mouth were just as distracting, especially wrapped around the tip of that quill.

Coughing, Harry averted his gaze and focused on the book, Draco had been so intently studying when he’d first approached the table.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

It was a rather pathetic attempt to push his treacherous thoughts into a different direction altogether.

“Advanced Healing Potions. First-Year Healer Training material.”

Feeling his eyes widen, Harry turned his head back to focus on Draco.

“Are you doing it then?”

Draco shrugged, then nodded.

“Might as well give it a try. Still want to be an Auror then?”

Harry nodded.

“For the most part I do, but sometimes I can’t help but think whether chasing dark wizards is really what I want to do with my life.”

“I wish I had some advice for you about that, but I don’t.”

Harry smiled.

“I’ll figure it out before the school year’s out. Or at least I hope I do. What are your plans for today?”

“Hm, I was hoping you might want to spend the day together?”

Harry grinned.

“That sounds like a marvellous idea.”

Draco chuckled.

“Although, I suggest that you open your presents first and if you still want to hang out with me after, I’d be more than happy to keep you company.”

Harry sat back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Malfoy, what have you done?”

Draco gave him a positively devious grin.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Potter.”

Shaking his head, Harry sighed.

“Sometimes, you scare me, Malfoy.”

“Good. After all, as a proud student of Slytherin house, I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You and your house pride.”

Draco laughed.

“Well, apparently I’ve won you over to the dark side, Harry.”

It took a moment for the message to sink in completely, but when Harry followed Draco’s gaze down the front of his hoodie, he did realise what Draco had so subtly referred to.

He grinned.

“Someone said green compliments my eyes,” he said.

Draco winked.

“I agree. That someone is rather smart.”

Harry nodded.

“Hm, actually he is. He’s quite good-looking too. I think I’ve got a bit of a crush on him.”

Draco cheeks pinked ever so slightly and uncrossing his arms, Harry let his arms rest on the table. His fingers were only inches away from Draco’s, and after staring into each other’s eyes for several long moments, Harry plucked up the courage and took Draco’s hand. He pulled it closer and covered it with his own. Draco’s fingers curled around his wrists and their palms slotted together perfectly.

They sat like this until Draco broke eye contact and glanced up.

“Mistletoe,” he whispered.

A shudder surged through Harry, and following Draco’s eyes, he too tilted his head back and looked up at the magical plant that had grown above their heads.

He swallowed hard.

His mouth felt dry and shivering slightly; he pressed his lips tightly together. The mistletoe had grown right out of nowhere, and as it hovered in the air above them, Harry's head filled with one thought and one thought only, and that thought was that he quite desperately wanted to kiss Draco. He wanted to know what it felt like, but he didn’t want to do it here, in the Great Hall, with teachers and fellow students watching. This was a moment in his life; he didn’t want to share with anyone.

He cleared his throat, though it took him two attempts to successfully do so.

“Draco.”

A strange sort of croak escaped his lips, and feeling his palms sweat, he itched to draw his hand away, but Draco had tightened his grip around his wrist, quietly telling him that he wasn’t about to let go.

“Can’t ignore a mistletoe, Harry,” he said with an encouraging smile.

Harry nodded.

He found himself leaning in a little, narrowing the gap between them both but knew that if he wanted to kiss Draco, he would have to stand up and lean across the table.

He sighed.

“Can we― Not here, please.”

Draco nodded.

He silently rose to his feet and leaving his belongings behind; he headed towards the entrance of the Great Hall. As though he was stuck in a daze, Harry followed him, and vaguely aware that the mistletoe was moving through the hall with him, he grabbed Draco’s hand and together they left the Great Hall. The door fell closed behind them, and the dull thud made Harry jump in fright.

Draco merely tightened his grip on his hand, and grateful for the physical comfort, Harry fell into step with Draco, allowing him to lead the way. They walked down a long corridor together and with each step that they took, Harry felt himself grow more and more nervous.

Eventually, he couldn’t contain it anymore and gradually stopping, he pulled his hand out of Draco’s loose grasp and turned to look out of a nearby window. It was still snowing rather heavily, but he could most definitely make out the Quidditch pitch in the distance.

“What happens when you ignore a mistletoe?” he asked quietly.

He chanced another glance up at the magical plant above his head. Its branches were thick and healthy, and its leaves a vivid shade of green. Countless of white berries grew alongside its branches.

Behind him, Draco chuckled softly.

“Some say it’s bad luck not to kiss underneath a mistletoe,” he said, “but there’s no evidence that that’s actually true. What I can tell you though is that by the looks of it we both wished it into existence and it’s going to appear above our heads every time we spend time together and for as long as it takes for us to either kiss or the last berry to fall off. Without its berries, the mistletoe’s magic is gone. It no longer has the power to command you to kiss the one you want to kiss.”

Harry nodded.

“I see.”

A minute or so of silence passed, and Harry felt Draco’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“If you aren’t ready, a peck on the cheek will appease it too, you know.”

Harry shook his head.

“I― no. I want― I’d like― I mean―”

Draco’s arms circled his waist and pulled him to an embrace. Harry couldn’t help but melt into the hug.

“Hush you.”

Draco’s voice was warm and soft, and the warmth of his breath tickled Harry’s cheek.

He shivered a little and glancing down at Draco’s hands; he mutely placed his own above them.

Draco pulled him closer still and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Harry, do you want this?”

Unable to detach his tongue from the top of his mouth, Harry nodded yes.

“How much?”

A zap of energy shot down Harry’s spine.

 _So much, so, so much_ , he thought.

A moment later, Draco’s lips pressed themselves softly against the side of his neck and lingered there for a few seconds. Harry’s knees buckled and instinctively reaching out; he used one hand to steady himself on the window sill in front of him. His skin tingled and the small spot, Draco had kissed, felt like it was on fire. Hot excitement coursed through his veins, and Harry shuddered a little. He couldn’t remember ever having felt anything quite this intense, and racking his brains; he fervently tried to find some sensation, he could compare this one to, but no matter what memory he drew out, nothing seemed to match. Not even remotely.

It also didn’t help that every fibre of him was silently screaming for more. More of Draco’s embrace, more of Draco’s lips, more of that delicious hot breath and that soft voice.

Harry curled his hand, the one he’d rested on the window sill in front of him, into a loose fist and taking a deep breath; he slowly turned around.

His eyes locked with Draco’s but he only held his gaze for a second, then broke it to glance down at Draco’s lips.

“I want to kiss you so bad,” he murmured.

Draco responded with a warm bubbly laugh.

“Do it, then.”

Harry sighed.

“Is that the mistletoe or is that my desire?”

“Yours, Harry. Mistletoes can only remove inhibitions; they can’t compel you to kiss a person you hate.”

“I never really hated you.”

Draco’s lips curled into a soft smile.

“I know.”

* * *

* * *


	20. This Kiss, This Kiss (Unstoppable)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to my wonderful girlfriend, CB.

* * *

* * *

Draco shuffled ever so subtly, inching that bit closer to Harry, although he didn’t think that it would be at all possible. He and Harry were already standing extraordinarily close, and he could feel Harry’s warm breath on his lips. They tingled in anticipation and running the tip of his tongue along them, Draco let his eyes fall closed.

His heart thudded in his chest, beating rapidly, and a nervous sort of energy clung to him. He couldn’t remember whether he’d ever felt this way, but highly doubted that he had.

There was something different about this.

Harry was a bundle of nerves, and through the barely-there gap between them, Draco could sense his nervousness and his apprehension. He had a vague idea of what was probably running through Harry’s head and tempted to take charge and make the first move, Draco inhaled softly and slowly, drawing air through his nose down into his lungs.

He shivered a little and parted his lips ever so slightly. About a hundred million thoughts raced through his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach out for anyone in particular. Instead, he let them whirl around his head, making him dizzy in the process. To ground himself, he focused on Harry’s closeness, the fact that their lips were less than an inch apart and―

Draco didn’t get much further than that in his contemplation.

A set of incredibly soft lips pressed against his own and letting out a small sigh, he instinctively tightened his hold on Harry, hoping to encourage him not to let go. Much to his astonishment, Harry didn’t pull away.

He lingered.

Draco’s head spun right out of control, and his heart thumped so wildly that he was sure that Harry could both hear and feel it. He moved his lips ever so slightly, and to his complete delight, Harry moved his own with him. It was a delicate move, so minute that Draco’s heart melted a little as an avalanche of sensations washed over him.

Hogwarts’ corridors were usually a little draughty, especially near windows, but right this moment Draco felt warm, hot even. He could smell the citrusy scent of Harry’s shampoo, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that Harry had moved his arms and was now resting them around his shoulders, drawing him closer.

Draco didn’t think that it was physically possible for either one of them to stand any closer, but he still shuffled his feet and moved an inch or so forward. He felt a rush of excitement trickle down his spine. It pooled low in his groin, setting off a whole chain reaction. Somehow, Harry had become the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world, and Draco felt his lips tremble ever so slightly.

Harry moved his lips and responding almost immediately, Draco parted his shaking lips a little further. Harry instantly pressed closer, and the action sent wild tremors through every single nerve string deep inside of Draco, evoking sensations he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

Overcome by pure giddiness and the fact that this was finally happening, Draco sighed softly.

Harry was kissing him.

He was actually kissing him.

It wasn’t a wild kiss, and Draco hadn’t expected one.

It was tender and sweet, and the longer it lasted; the more Draco wanted it to never end.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through Harry’s head, but he managed to convince himself that if Harry was feeling even just a fraction of what was going through his mind, his body would start to dissolve and melt against his own.

Draco’s heart felt like it was about to explode. His veins throbbed, and when Harry deepened the kiss ever so slightly and wound his fingers into the hairs growing at the nape of his neck, Draco was confident that he’d died and ascended to heaven.

He wanted all of Harry.

He wanted more of the kiss.

He wanted to be touched, and he wanted Harry to spin them around and press him up against the wall or apparate them somewhere where there was a bed, and they could lie down. Draco quite desperately wanted to feel Harry’s entire body weight pressed up against his own and instinctively pulled Harry even closer.

Harry let out a soft little whimper, and Draco parted his lips just far enough to tease the very centre of Harry’s top lip with the sharp tip of his tongue. Harry’s whimper turned into a tiny breathless moan, and smiling into the kiss, Draco hoped that he’d managed to convey what it was he wanted.

After a little bit of hesitation, and nearly giving up hope, he finally felt Harry’s tongue map the outline of his lips, and although Draco desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, he held back. Instead, he waited for Harry, and rather obediently allowed it all to happen on Harry’s terms and within his comfort zone.

Thankfully, Harry seemed entirely disinclined to stop the kiss any time soon, and Draco parted his lips just a little bit further, inviting Harry in.

They gradually deepened their kiss, adding more intensity and passion to it, and Draco felt beyond ecstatic about the fact that this was finally happening. He’d thought about kissing Harry for quite a few weeks now. Every night fantasies of kissing Harry, of making out with him, of falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms and with his face buried in that messy mop of Harry’s hair, plagued him until he fell into an uneasy slumber.

When Harry had expressed an apparent interest in pursuing a more romantic type of relationship, he hadn’t been able to hide his desires or the thrill of dating. He’d purposefully held back, refusing to pressure Harry in any way, but he couldn’t help but thank Merlin for the appearance of that mistletoe. It was quite possibly the best Christmas gift he’d ever received in his entire life.

Harry’s tongue almost tentatively slithered past his lips and into his mouth, and Draco met it with his own, winding it around Harry’s, tasting, licking, feeling, drowning in the intensity of something as simple as a sweet first kiss.

There was truly absolutely nothing wild about their kiss. It was slow and unhurried, but it was everything. Draco loved the pace, the intention behind it, the gradual but natural progression from a tentative brush of the lips to a teasing French kiss. He filled Harry’s mouth with a soft moan and momentarily taking just a little bit of charge, he allowed one of his hands to travel up alongside Harry’s spine to that space right between his shoulder blades.

There, Draco applied just the right amount of pressure, and Harry practically fell into his arms. His knees buckled rather dangerously, and pressing one of his legs up against the outside of Harry’s leg, Draco provided him with a much-needed grounding touch.

Their tongues playfully battled back and forth, teasing each other, and their lips moved in perfect unison. Draco was quite sure that he could feel just a little bit of Harry’s stubble and he rather liked the slightly rough edge to it. It reminded him firmly of the fact that Harry was slowly becoming a man, getting more mature and filling out in all the right places.

Thoughts of that ignited a different kind of desire inside of Draco, and he felt his trousers grow considerably tighter. They became more and more uncomfortable to wear and shifting just a little, he tried his best to keep some sort of lid on his teenage hormones but failed exceptionally.

Soon enough, the contents of the jar spilt over its rim and the excitement of that knocked the very last bit of air from Draco’s lungs. They began to burn and wilfully demand to have their needs fulfilled, but Draco ignored them for as long as he possibly could. He could tell that Harry was having the same problems, but neither one of them wanted to be the first to break the kiss, and for a while, their exchange became considerably fierier.

Their kiss lasted for another few seconds, then Draco really needed to breathe properly, and gently breaking away from Harry, he pulled back a little and breathed deeply.

Harry did the same, and afterwards, they both opened their eyes and stared at each other.

Draco smiled goofily.

Harry was the first to speak.

“Bloody hell.”

Draco chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Harry grinned.

“Please do. Fuck, going forward, I’m going to need more of the same and regularly.”

Draco laughed.

“If you want this regularly, it comes with conditions attached.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“What conditions?” he asked.

Draco smirked.

“The only person I’m willing to kiss regularly is my boyfriend.”

Harry exhaled.

Albeit looking somewhat stunned, his eyes twinkled with a strange sort of mirth.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” he said.

His voice was soft and quiet, but there was absolutely nothing shy about his demeanour or his statement. He suddenly seemed to know exactly what it was he wanted, and Draco silently applauded him for that.

Still, Draco couldn’t help but tease a little.

“Hm, do you now?”

Harry nodded.

“I will probably find a way to fuck this up, but I’d love a chance if you’re up for it. I have a mad crush on you, and I literally want to spend every waking minute with you. And now that I’ve kissed you, I really don’t want to stop.”

Draco smiled.

“Then don’t.”

* * *

* * *


	21. Three And A Half Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little time jump for the last chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the ride and thank you so much for your fantastic comments along the way. I'll be slowly making my way through them and leaving replies.
> 
> Loads of love and a Happy New Year!
> 
> Selly x

* * *

* * *

Harry slowed his beloved Firebolt, a present from Draco, levelled it and gradually coming to a halt, he hovered a couple of feet above the ground, before effortlessly jumping off it and steadily landing on both his feet. After nearly an hour astride his broom, he felt a bit sore and stretching a little, he craned his neck to iron out a few kinks. He blinked as the sun’s warm summer rays temporarily blinded him but adjusted rather quickly.

Redirecting his gaze, Harry proudly glanced at the prize in his hand. He flexed his fingers around the shiny winged golden ball, he’d just caught in a bit of a daredevil manoeuvre and huffed out a breath of laughter. It hadn’t been much of a challenge, but it had undoubtedly been a lot of fun.

Draco had released the Snitch for him some forty-five minutes ago. Just after they’d spent most of the afternoon bickering over the fact whether or not he’d be able to chase after it and catch it in under an hour.

He smiled triumphantly.

 _Once a Seeker, always a Seeker_ , he mused.

Lingering on the lush green grass beneath his shoed feet, Harry glanced around and inhaled a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before finally releasing it slowly. The fresh country air around him made him feel alive and fresh. His eyes settled on Draco, dressed in a pair of ordinary washed-out blue Muggle jeans and a thin grey button-up shirt. It was the perfect mix between casual and elegant, and as he strode across the lawn, past a line of lime-green robes, gently swaying in the wind and drying under the sun’s watchful eye, Harry licked his lips in silent appreciation.

Draco had his nose buried in an ancient-looking tome, and it was evident that he was concentrating on soaking up as much information as he possibly could. Harry knew that another set of excruciating exams to mark yet another milestone of Draco’s ongoing Healer training were only a few weeks away, and he could tell that deep inside Draco was a nervous wreck.

On the outside, though, you just couldn’t tell. At least not if you didn’t know Draco. But Harry knew him. Knew him very well.

Draco had truly mastered the art of cool nonchalance and passive indifference. One had to look deep if one wanted to spot real emotions. Those, Draco kept well-hidden, only revealing them to a select few. Harry counted himself lucky to belong to those select few.

These days, and although his knowledge already significantly exceeded the requirements for a third-year Healer-in training, Draco spent nearly every waking minute leafing through his books, revising and expanding his skills and expertise. At times, it positively annoyed Harry, but he usually found ways of coping with the lack of attention he got from Draco.

After all, whenever push came to shove, he did know how to distract Draco. It was his little secret weapon. Though, it went both ways. As much as he knew how to disarm Draco, Draco also knew how to disarm him, and he was extraordinarily brilliant at showing off his skills.

Harry rested his broom against a nearby iron-wrought chair and stepping onto the paved terrace, he observed Draco for another minute or two. When it came to looking at Draco, he simply couldn’t get enough. It had always been this way, and Harry suspected that it would always be this way. Draco usually teased him mercilessly about it.

Smiling to himself, Harry headed for the open terrace door that led into his and Draco’s living room. He at once collided with an invisible shield, and grumbling under his breath, he stumbled backwards.

“Malfoy,” he snarled, “What. The. Actual. Fuck!”

“Crude, Potter. So utterly crude.”

Draco’s low and posh drawl sent a shudder down Harry’s spine, and he turned his head to find his boyfriend looking at him with a steady gaze. His silvery-grey eyes sparkled brightly, and a mischievous smirk curled around his lips. It was both infuriating and arousing all at once, and Harry swallowed hard.

“Did you cast a shield charm on that door to lock me out?”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to look menacing.

Draco merely laughed, letting him know that his scary-Auror act wasn’t working on him.

The sound of Draco’s warm bubbly laughter trickled down Harry’s spine, and he shivered.

“Sure did,” Draco said.

Harry frowned.

“Care to explain to me why Malfoy?” he asked.

Draco arched an eyebrow at him, then gave him a slow, teasing, and very deliberate, once-over. As his gaze settled on Harry’s groin area, he licked his lips suggestively; an obvious hint at what idea had just entered his mind. Harry shifted from one foot to the other and tried his best to ignore the fact that his blood was steadily flowing south, filling and thickening a particular part of him that had yet to learn how to resist Draco’s lecherous eyes. Harry didn’t think his cock would ever master the art of remaining unaffected by Draco’s deliberate and very exquisite teasing.

After a moment, Draco’s gaze drifted down his legs and settled on his Quidditch boots.

“You’re not walking through my house with those mucky shoes,” he said matter-of-factly.

Draco slowly dragged his eyes back up, met Harry’s, and flashed him a positively devious grin.

Harry tried to remain unimpressed, but it didn’t work.

He simply didn’t possess the ability to ignore anything Draco did.

He noticed it all.

It didn’t matter how small the gesture was or how obscure Draco’s words seemed to others.

Other the last three years, Harry had learnt to read between the lines, and he was especially good at reading understanding what Draco wasn’t saying.

“It’s my house too, you know?”

Harry tried his best to look sulky.

Draco threw his head back laughing and, in a flash, he had his wand in his hand but didn’t use it.

Instead, he lazily pointed it at the invisible shield charm he’d cast over the open door.

“Is it now? Well, if it’s your house too, then you should have no problem getting inside, shouldn’t you? That’s my best one yet, Potter, you won’t tear that one down.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge, Malfoy?”

Draco shrugged.

He inspected his wand with the utmost precision, and for a second, Harry was tempted to summon it right out of his hand.

“You interpret that as you see fit, Potter.”

Harry chuckled.

“I caught the Snitch in under an hour,” he said, briefly changing the subject.

“I noticed. Impressive.”

Draco’s bored drawl told Harry that his boyfriend was anything but impressed.

It took more than that for Draco to make it evident that Harry had excited him in some way or other.

Harry scoffed and rolling his eyes, he confidentially stepped forward and reached out to touch the shield with the tips of his fingers. It vibrated gently, and Harry applied just a little bit of pressure. The invisible shield remained firmly in place.

“If you tear it down, you can walk through the house with those horrid mucky shoes, and I’ll give you a blowjob in the shower.”

Draco’s voice was low. It carried a distinctly cocky undertone, one that equally excited Harry and annoyed him. It had an edge to it that sounded both dangerous and extraordinarily arousing and spurred on by the promise, Draco had just made, Harry tried to grasp the shield, but it continued to repel him.

He grumbled and drawing his wand, he cast several non-verbal detection spells, but none of them revealed more than he already knew ― Draco had blocked the door with an incredibly powerful shield charm and whatever protective wards he’d woven into it directly influenced the wards on their house, rendering them ineffective and therefore preventing Harry from accessing his own property.

“I hate you, Malfoy, do you know that?”

Draco snorted under his breath.

“Love you too, Potter.”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together and glanced sideways.

Draco hadn’t moved an inch.

He was still sat on the wooden bench in front of their large living room window. There was a cushion underneath his buttocks. He’d thrown one leg over the other, and his medical tome was still open, comfortably resting on his thighs.

“You’re worse than Robards,” Harry snarled.

Draco laughed.

“Thanks for the compliment, Potter.”

Harry mumbled something under his breath and concentrated on the obstacle in front of him. He asked Draco a few questions, but while he got answers, none of them helped him to discern what bothersome charm Draco had cast on the upon the doorway.

He huffed out a breath of annoyance and casting a few more spells, he finally managed to get the shield to become visible. It shimmered in the bright sunlight and Harry couldn’t decide whether it had a silver sparkle to it or a strange blue hue. After a spot of indecision, he settled or both.

He ground his teeth together and glancing at Draco, he found him looking at him intently.

Draco unfaltering gaze ignited something fierce inside of him, and as his heart skipped a beat, he felt a familiar sort of heat burn low in his groin.

He wanted what Draco had promised, and he wanted it badly. His whole body yearned for it, and he craved it with every fibre of his being.

A shudder zapped through him and straightening up slightly, Harry pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and gnawing on it, he turned his concentration back to dismantling the shield charm in front of him. He was dead set on making it happen.

Harry was painfully aware that Draco was watching his every move, and it only made him more determined to claim his prize. Twisting his wand idly between his fingers, he focused entirely, blocking out any and all distractions.

It was a handy technique; Draco had taught him just after they’d graduated from Hogwarts and a little trick, Harry used ever since. It worked exceptionally well whenever he was stuck in a meeting with Robards, and the old fart droned on and on about how important it was to continue to work on restoring the Ministry’s Auror Force and―

It was at this point that Harry usually stopped listening and either concentrated on defensive spells and duelling tactics or played a Quidditch match in his head, developing extraordinary stunts and moves to entertain himself until Robards finished his weekly department meeting.

Casting a few more spells at the shield, Harry tried to dismantle it wandlessly. He reached out but once again grasped at nothing, and growling with frustration, he shot an offensive spell at it in his annoyance. The spell bounced off the shield, and Harry found himself ducking to avoid it. It whizzed past his left ear, and turning his head, Harry glowered at Draco.

“I really do hate you, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed.

“Just be glad I didn’t weave a curse into it. Imbecile. One doesn’t go touching shield charms with one’s bare hands, Potter. Auror 101. Even I know that, and I never had any formal training. Unlike you.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’ve read all my coursebooks,” he muttered under his breath, then spoke a little louder.

“Thanks for the reminder, Healer Malfoy. Wrong job choice much?”

Draco grinned.

“Nah. Someone has to be ready to stitch you back up after you get knocked on your arse during a raid, and I’d rather that someone was capable of handling your abysmal manners when you’re injured. In the last two years, you’ve successfully managed to terrify every single Healer in St Mungo’s, except me.”

Harry wanted to scoff at Draco’s words but something about them made his chest expand, and his heart beat faster.

“You’re the only one I want,” he said in a soft tone.

He couldn’t help but smile at the hidden affection in Draco’s words and turning his attention back to dismantling the shield charm, he faced it with renewed vigour.

It took him another five minutes before he finally managed to take it down, and grinning like a Cheshire cat, he glanced at Draco, raised his eyebrow in a silent challenge and then fired at stinging charm at him.

It hit the side of Draco’s arse.

Draco yelped and jumped to his feet, dropping his medical reference book onto the floor in the process.

“Potter, I’m going to kill you!”

Harry laughed.

“Gotta catch me first, Malfoy.”

Without waiting for Draco, Harry dashed into the house and bolted up the stairs.

He made it all the way to his and Draco’s bedroom before he felt an invisible force wrap itself around his ankle and yank his foot back.

Losing his balance, he flailed his arms but unable to remain upright, he toppled over and landed on the ground.

Draco’s laughter filled the room and growling angrily, Harry twisted around, got to his feet and advanced on Draco, who let out a high-pitched squeal and bolted back out the door, running down the stairs.

Harry caught him halfway down the corridor that led to their large kitchen, and wrapping an arm firmly around Draco’s waist, he pulled him tightly against his front. Without a word of warning, he sank his teeth into Draco’s neck, biting him hard and leaving a very prominent mark behind.

“Fuck! Potter!”

Draco groaned and tried to wriggle free, but Harry simply moved to another spot, a little bit higher up Draco’s neck and bit him harder.

It had the desired result, and after a moment or two, Draco stopped struggling and went lax in his arms.

“Got you, Malfoy.”

Harry predatorily whispered the words into Draco’s ear and slowly dragging him up the stairs and into their bathroom, he walked Draco backwards and straight into their spacious shower cubicle, pressing him up against the cold white tiles.

“Hands above your head,” he snarled.

Draco held his gaze for the longest time, then ever so slowly complied with his request.

Harry’s licked his lips and capturing Draco’s in a fiercely passionate kiss, he ground his hips against Draco, drawing a low moan from him.

Draco’s arms dropped, and his forearms landed on his shoulders. Vaguely aware of Draco’s fingers threading themselves deep into his messy hair, Harry deepened the kiss, turning it into a passionate battle of the tongues.

His hands travelled all over Draco’s body and tearing at his shirt, he popped the buttons, sending them flying through the shower. He exposed Draco’s smooth chest, pulled away from the kiss and for a moment, his eyes trailed over the thin scars that streaked all over Draco’s chest. Ever since he’d seen them for the very first time, it had become his habit, and part of his routine, to trace a few of them with his fingertips. He dragged his eyes up to meet Draco’s and smiled. Draco’s eyes were smoky and dark, filled with warmth, lust and pure and unadulterated desire.

Harry watched and licked his lips.

Draco gasped when he squeezed his hip, gripping it hard and possessively.

He suddenly remembered their first-ever kiss and slightly overwhelmed by the memory of it and what they’d created together afterwards.

“You were the best Christmas present I ever got,” Harry whispered.

Draco chuckled.

“You kissed me first, remember? It was my Christmas present.”

Harry shrugged.

“Semantics.”

Draco’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he huffed out a breath of laughter.

“Sometimes semantics matter,” he said.

Harry raised his shoulders slightly, then dropped them again.

“In this case, they don’t.”

Draco laughed.

“If you say so, Potter.”

Harry grinned.

“I do say so, Malfoy.”

He held Draco’s gaze for the longest time, then, unable to resist the pull of Draco’s kiss-swollen wet lips, he captured them in yet another heated kiss, wondering when exactly he’d gotten this lucky ― he literally had it all; a beautiful home, a family that loved him, a stunningly handsome boyfriend and a fantastic career. Half of him was still convinced that one day it would all go wrong, that his life had always been like that, but Draco had a knack for drawing him out of his own head before all his doubts had any chance of taking over.

Draco melted against him, and as their hands roamed over each other’s bodies, they somehow managed to flick the shower on. It was more of an accident than purpose, but Harry welcomed the wetness. Warm water rained down on them, soaking through their clothes, sticking them to their bodies, but Harry couldn’t care less.

He had everything he’d ever wanted right here in his arms.

Draco was his.

What had started as an innocent flirtation hadn’t been a mere school crush. It hadn’t been a fling to entertain either of them during their eighth year at Hogwarts.

No, Draco was so much more.

This was so much more.

Draco was everything.

He’d become his sanity, his voice of reason, and the one person who managed to get under his skin with a simple look or an innocent touch. A brush of Draco’s hand was usually enough for Harry to find himself unable to focus on anything but the man in front of him.

He still remembered the exact moment he’d realised the magnitude of his feelings for Draco.

* * *

**Flashback Start**

* * *

_Harry leant back against the side of his bed and smiled down at Draco, who was lying on top of a large shaggy rug ― he’d successfully transfigured one of Harry’s pillows ― with his head resting in Harry’s lap. It was the last day of the year, and although there was a party in the Great Hall, they’d crept away to be alone. After retrieving his invisibility cloak, he’d successfully smuggled Draco through the portrait into Gryffindor Tower._

_Midnight was still a couple of hours away, but Harry was rather delighted to have Draco all for himself in the privacy of his own room. They had drinks and snacks, and the place was warm and cosy ― more so than usual. There was next to no chance that anyone might interrupt them and Harry was more than grateful for that._

_The last few days had been a bit of a whirlwind, and Harry still couldn’t quite believe that he and Draco were actually dating._

_They were a couple._

_An item._

_Boyfriends._

_Harry smiled and running his fingers through Draco’s soft blond hair, he shivered when the strands tickled the palm of his hands._

_Draco blinked, hummed contently and stretched a little._

_The movement caused him to shift his head a little, and he momentarily pressed the back of his head into Harry’s groin, and very firmly against Harry’s cock._

_Harry pressed his lips tightly together and suppressed the desire to let out a soft sigh. Ever since he and Draco had kissed for the first time, he found his body desiring Draco more and more. An intense sort of appetite filled him whenever Draco got too close or whenever they kissed for too long, and although Harry had yet to voice his feelings on the matter, he was pretty sure that Draco already had an inkling._

_However, he was the perfect gentleman and beyond holding hands and sharing several very passionate kisses while their hands roamed over their clothed bodies, they hadn’t engaged in anything more sexual._

_Half the time they were together, Harry couldn’t decide whether he wanted more or whether he wanted to draw out this sweet torture and wait a little longer._

_“Knut for your thoughts?”_

_Draco interrupted his train of thought._

_Harry shook his head and smiled._

_“Nothing, just feeling happy.”_

_It wasn’t even a lie._

_He was happy._

_Very happy._

_It had only been a few days, but ever since he’d kissed Draco, he felt lighter and freer._

_Sometimes, it felt like Draco’s mere presence was enough to heal a few of the wounds, he’d sustained in his past. It was a strange sort of feeling and although Harry had wanted to tell Draco about it, he’d yet to pluck up the courage and actually do so. It seemed like a thoroughly maudlin thing to say to one’s new boyfriend._

_Draco huffed; it was a soft snort of amusement._

_“Perhaps. But there’s more to your happiness,” Draco said, drawing quotation marks around the word ‘_ happiness _’._

_Harry chuckled._

_“Are you sure?”_

_Draco nodded._

_“Very, Potter. You aren’t the only one who spent the last seven years watching from the shadows.”_

_Harry grinned._

_“Creepy,” he said._

_His eyes fell onto the Christmas present, a brand-new Firebolt, Draco had given him, and although he was still a bit miffed that Draco hadn’t listened to him, he was far too ecstatic to be seriously mad at him. There was just something about his new broom that made Harry’s heart flutter in his chest and slowly dragging his eyes away from the Firebolt, he couldn’t help but smile._

_Draco’s gaze had followed him, and now, as their eyes met, Harry swallowed hard as he realised something._

_It was plain as day._

_He was head over heels in love with Draco Malfoy._

_Strangely enough, that thought didn’t unsettle him._

_He wasn’t ready to say those words just yet, but he knew that there would be a time when he would be dying to shout them from the rooftops. Harry didn’t think it would be very long before he wanted Draco to know how he felt about him._

_Something in Draco’s eyes told him that Draco knew more about his feelings than he let on, but he didn’t contemplate it any further. Shuffling, Harry leant down to capture Draco’s lips in a slow and tender kiss. Draco met him halfway, and they kissed with their eyes closed. Harry tentatively searched for Draco’s hands and finding them, he intertwined them with his own and held on tightly._

_Yep, he was most definitely in love with Draco, and it was the best feeling in the world._

* * *

**Flashback End**

* * *

Harry pulled himself out of his reverie, and breaking the kiss, he stared deeply into Draco’s eyes, drowning in the swirling silvery-grey mist. There was a kind of wildness to the look Draco gave him, that made him shiver with anticipation.

He licked his lips and smiled.

“I love you.”

Draco’s lips curled upward.

“I love you too.”

“Forever,” Harry whispered.

Draco laughed.

“Got to get better at dismantling simple shield charms then, Potter.”

Harry growled, thoroughly annoyed with Draco’s incessant teasing.

He grabbed Draco’s arse, squeezed it firmly, then smacked it hard, drawing a strange sound from the depths of Draco’s chest.

It ignited a wildfire deep inside of him.

“That wasn’t a simple charm, you slick Slytherin wanker.”

Draco winked.

“It was simple to me, Gryffindork.”

“You talk too much, Malfoy.”

“Do something about it then, Potter.”

Harry grinned.

“You bet, I will.”

“I look forward to it.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then brought his hands up and rested them on Draco’s shoulders. He applied just enough pressure to force Draco to his knees, and delighted in the lack of resistance, Draco showed him.

Once on his knees, Draco made short work of his trousers, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. A few seconds later, he’d freed his prize, and with one mischievous wink at Harry, he swallowed most of his length, engulfing it with his mouth.

Harry groaned, steadied himself on the tiles in front of him, and letting the hot water cascade down his back, he watched as Draco went down on him, expertly sucking him off.

At some point, Harry twisted the fingers of his right hand into Draco’s hair but didn’t apply any pressure. He didn’t need to. Draco knew precisely what he liked and what he didn’t. He’d had a fair amount of time to learn and practise.

It didn’t take very long for Harry to reach his climax. He made a half-hearted attempt at warning Draco but instinctively knew that his boyfriend wouldn’t stop. He never had before. No, Draco rather liked to take it all, to taste, and to swallow.

Harry let out another loud groan and shuddering, he felt his knees buckle as Draco applied just the right amount of suction to send him flying over the edge. He exploded in Draco’s mouth, then nearly sank to the shower floor when his knees threatened to give out.

“Fuck,” he panted heavily.

Draco grinned at him from his place on the floor, then slowly rose to his feet and kissed Harry hungrily.

They somehow managed to rid themselves of their soaked clothing, and once they were both naked, Harry reciprocated the favour, lathering Draco’s erection with as much attention and love as he was capable of.

Afterwards, they washed each other, then climbed out of the shower, and after multiple delays, they finally managed to towel each other dry, then crawled into bed together for a snuggle.

Harry gave Draco one more slow kiss, then wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in Draco’s scent, the freshness of his hair and the citrusy smell of his skin. Before falling asleep, wrapped tightly around Draco's naked body, he sent a silent thank you to that magical mistletoe that had given him the courage to take a step towards the unknown and follow his heart.


End file.
